My Fair Lady
by akane47
Summary: Bevier's hopes for a nice vacation after the mission to Matherion are dashed when he returns home to find a redheaded young woman in his mother's bathtub. Set mainly in Arcium.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: This is David and Leigh Eddings' sandbox. Menina and Afreet are just playing in it.

Technical Notes: The name "Afreet" is a variation on the word _ifrit_, which is an Arabic word for demon. I am basing the Rendorish culture on what little I know about the desert peoples. The Arcian will be based on the French, Italian and Spanish cultures.

Author's Notes: I vowed that I wouldn't post this until I had the entire story finished, but I just had to do it now. I first read _The Elenium_ ten years ago, and thought Bevier was hot even then :D I would have loved to see him get together with Naween, the Cimmuran whore, but I couldn't figure out a way for that to happen so I made up Menina instead. I hope you enjoy the story! ~ Ara Kane

MY FAIR LADY

Chapter One

It was a sunny day in Arcium when Sir Bevier, Champion of the Cyrinic Order of Church Knights, parted ways with his fellow knights. From the capital city of Larium, he was going north to Catalum, his family's holding in the central region of the kingdom. Sir Sparhawk, Champion of the Pandion Order, and his family were riding westward to Elenia, where his wife Ehlana ruled as Queen. Sirs Tynian and Ulath, the Alcione and Genidian Champions, respectively, would be traveling with Sparhawk and his family before going home to their kingdoms further up north.

Perhaps another day's ride, two at most, Bevier thought as he watched the figures of his friends grow smaller and smaller before disappearing altogether. Another day or two and then he would be home. He would certainly miss his companions after all their adventures, but he was also looking forward to spending some quiet time with his family and catching up on his reading before duty called again. 

The young knight ruefully eyed the sawed-off handle of his treasured Lochaber ax. Hopefully, there would also be time to restore his weapon of choice to its former glory.

As his gray stallion made its way toward Catalum, Bevier watched the golden fields and villages of the hinterlands give way to open countryside. 

His heart rejoiced at the sight of the lush green carpet stretching for miles on either side of the road, dotted here and there with the red and gold wildflowers instead of pits made by the rocks thrown from catapults. The sky was a deep, beautiful blue, unsullied by smoke. There was nothing to rival Arcium during a peacetime spring.

Soon, the timeless majesty of the mountains would show themselves. The appearance of those mountains was the first sign that he was close to home.

* * *

Bevier clattered across the drawbridge of his family's seat in Catalum one bright, warm afternoon, after an uneventful two days on the road. Elag, the seneschal, was on hand to greet him. "Welcome home, my Lord," the sturdy middle-aged man said as he helped the young knight dismount. Waiting servants came forward to unload the saddlebags.

"Thank you, Elag," Bevier replied, handing his cloak and leather gloves to a nearby maid and stepping inside the castle. "How have things been here at Catalum?"

"Very well, my Lord. The peace has managed to hold and rents have never been higher."

"Good, good. And how is my mother?" Bevier's mother, the Dowager Viscountess Arda, had been left behind when he had been called away to join his brother Knights on a mission to the Tamul Empire. She was not very strong and he had been loath to leave her, but he was a Church Knight, and Church Knights — Cyrinics, especially — were known for their devotion to duty. "Does she fare any better?"

Had he been looking at Elag, he would not have missed the uneasiness that crossed the seneschal's face. "Ah, the Lady Arda fares well, my Lord. Better than well, in fact," the steward replied in a faintly wry voice.

"Splendid! Is Mother in her rooms?" the young knight asked as he strode down the corridor on the upper floor of the castle, toward the wing where his mother's rooms were located. 

"I believe so, my Lord," Elag said, jumping forward when they reached the Lady Arda's door, "but perhaps you would like to refresh yourself first before presenting yourself to your lady mother?"

"If Mother is sleeping, I shall just look in on her," Bevier said, turning the latch quietly and pushing the door open, all the while wondering why the older man looked so alarmed. "I will not—"

Presently, there were shrieks, gasps and a small splash. "My Lord!" female voices cried. Maids scurried to shield the bathtub and its occupant from his eyes, but not before he caught a glimpse of wide green eyes, fiery red hair, bare golden shoulders. Definitely not his mother.

He flushed and spun around as the Dowager Viscountess Arda strode into the room. "Mother!" 

"Dear, dear Bevier! You've come home!" she said, taking his hands in hers and beaming at him. A twinkle appeared in her eye when she took in his red face and glanced over his shoulder at the maids still clustered in her chamber. "I see you have met Menina."

* * *

He was formally presented to their unexpected houseguest at supper that evening. "Good evening, Mother," Bevier greeted Arda, rising to his feet as she entered the dining room with the redheaded young woman at her side. 

"Hello, Bevier," his mother replied with a bright smile. "It's a lovely evening, is it not?"

"Not as lovely as you are, my Lady," he told her affectionately. She had never looked better, and he would have remarked on it earlier if he had not encountered her new friend first.

"You always were a sweet boy," she said, patting his freshly-shaven cheek. "Now, my dear, I have someone here I want you to meet. This is Menina, your cousin Lilear's stepdaughter, come to live with us."

Bevier blinked as Menina came forward. _Lilear's stepdaughter!_ Lilear was only a few years older than he was. How could his cousin's stepdaughter be so…grown? 

She was tall for a woman, and carried her height proudly. Her vivid hair was pulled back neatly from a heart-shaped face and she was clad in an ivory brocade gown that Bevier recognized as his mother's.

"Menina," the dowager viscountess went on, "this is my son Bevier." 

Arda nudged her gently and Menina sketched a curtsy. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my Lord," she said in faintly accented Elenic. This man was so clearly the dowager viscountess' son, she thought. Although he stood a head above his mother, he had her upright bearing and dark eyes. Stepfather was older and stockier, but the two men had the same swarthy skin and curly, blue-black hair.

Her curtsy was stiff, and those new-leaf eyes never left his face as was proper, but she was a woman and a guest and one was always courteous to both. "My Lady," Bevier murmured with a fluid formal bow. Perhaps she did not know any better and had to be shown how things were done. "The pleasure is all mine."

Arda beamed. "Now that you are properly acquainted, my son, you may escort us to dinner."

"She is Lilear's stepdaughter?" Bevier asked his mother when they had been seated. 

"Yes, my Lord," Menina said before the older woman could answer, "I am." She did not know how things were done in Arcium, but she was raised to believe that it was rude to talk about a person as if he (or she) was not there.

"Her mother was quite a bit older than Lilear, my dear," Arda explained gently.

"Where did my cousin meet your mother?" Bevier asked, addressing the younger woman directly this time. When they had last heard from him, Lilear had been in Rendor.

"They met in Rendor," Menina replied. "My mother, brother and I belong to the Maranatoi. Stepfather was traveling with a trade caravan buying some of our tribe's horses, and when the caravan went on their way, he stayed behind."

An older woman belonging to a tribe of Rendorish horse breeders! He supposed he should not have been surprised. Lilear had that reckless streak that flared up in the family at times, going off to goodness-knew-where to seek his fortune instead of entering his novitiate with the Cyrinic Order as young noblemen were wont to do.

Nevertheless, despite that and the fact that Bevier had traveled with very worldly companions for many years, Bevier was shocked at his cousin's highly unconventional marriage. His expression must have betrayed this, because Menina's eyes flashed and her expression hardened. "They were married in the Elene faith," she said defensively. "Stepfather insisted and we all converted because Mother loved him."

At least he did not neglect that detail. "Why are…your parents…not with you?" he asked in what he hoped was a gentler tone. If the woman raised her chin any more, she would be looking up at the ceiling.

There was a brief silence. Menina's chin raised another fraction and she set her jaw to contain its trembling. "I have no one now," she finally replied in a stiff voice.

"No one?" Bevier repeated.

"No one," Arda replied on her behalf. The older woman's eyes filled with tears and Menina fought the stinging in her own eyes. "The poor dear."

Her host paled as her meaning dawned on him. "Not even Lilear?"

"No one," Menina confirmed. Her hands were clasped together in her lap so tightly that it hurt. The pain was only slightly less than the overwhelming loneliness that had plagued her since she left Rendor. 

"Good God." Bevier pushed away his soup, his appetite gone. He felt as if the hook point of his Lochaber was buried in his heart. Lilear had been rash, negligent of his studies and somewhat less devout than he should have been, but he had been a good man and a good friend. Bevier would miss him.

"Lilear told Menina stories about Arcium, Bevier," his mother told him gently, reaching out to touch his arm. "After she lost her family, Menina left her tribe and decided to come look for us. We are all she has now."

* * *

And so it was that the family gained a new member. 

Arda was delighted when Bevier, as head of the family, gave Menina his official permission to stay in Catalum. The two women had apparently grown very close during his absence, Bevier reflected as he sat in his study the next morning, going over the estate's account books. 

Perhaps it was all for the best. With Menina around, his mother would have someone to keep her company when he was called away again on Church business.

Bevier ran his quill down a list of figures and turned the page. He looked longingly at the book-filled shelves running the entire length of the wall behind him, then shook his head resolutely and went back to the accounts.

He was then distracted by the sound of hoof beats in the garden outside the study, followed by feminine voices and applause. 

Bevier frowned when the hoof beats began again, then shut the account book with a _thump_ when he heard horrified squeals and louder applause. He rose and then strode to the window for a better look.

Someone was galloping a large black horse over the meticulously manicured lawn. More squeals arose when powerful animal jumped over a hedge. 

He saw that his mother was sitting in the shady part of the garden, a mercifully safe distance away from the action. Arda's maids surrounded her, but there was not a red head among them. Bevier then noted that the horse's rider was dressed not in Elene clothing, but in the flowing robes favored by the desert peoples of Rendor. _"Good God!"_

He tore out of the study, then sprinted down the stairs and toward the garden. He emerged in time to see the stallion gallop by with Menina standing balanced on its bare back. "Mother!" Bevier exclaimed as he joined his mother and her ladies. "What in heaven's name is going on?"

"Oh, hello, my dear," the dowager viscountess greeted him with a smile as sunny as that day's weather. "We are watching Menina exercise her horse." She gave a cry of delight when the young woman slid off the horse's back and rode between its galloping legs. "Ooh, that is my very favorite trick. Is it not grand?"

"Marvelous," he replied in a strained voice, resisting the urge to run the animal down and drag its rider off it. She obviously knew what she was doing. If only it did not look so deuced dangerous!

He slapped himself mentally._ Stop using such language!_

Bevier stood rooted to the spot for the rest of the spectacle. He took a strangled breath, realizing only then that he had been holding it, when she was finally seated properly on the horse and the animal had slowed to a trot.

The black horse came to a stop before them and at his rider's prompting, bending his forelegs in a bow. Bevier remembered seeing the same trick performed by the horses of the Domi Kring and his tribe. 

Menina leapt off her mount to wild applause from the women. Her bright hair tumbled down as she doffed her headscarf the way a street urchin would his cap. 

"You were wonderful, Menina!" Arda cried, clapping. "Bevier thought so, too, did you not, my son?"

"Er, yes," he stammered. "Very…very nice."

"He said you were 'marvelous,'" his mother told the younger woman.

Menina smiled up at him, her face flushed and eyes bright with triumph and exercise. "My Lord is too kind," she replied modestly. Then her expression changed and she scowled over her shoulder. _"Afreet!"_ she said severely. The horse, which had been terrorizing the grooms, promptly quieted and allowed them to lead it back to the stables.

"She has a way with horses," Arda said. "It must be characteristic of all the Maranatoi. Did you see her on Afreet, Bevier? They were moving as if they were one being! Oh, it set my heart to racing!" 

Bevier rounded on his mother. "Your heart is racing?" he asked sharply. "Mother, you must lie down immediately! Are you dizzy? On the verge of swooning? Do you need a physician? Some ice?" 

"I did not mean _that_ kind of racing," she told him, dismissing his concern with a stately wave of her hand. "Calm down, Bevier, I'm perfectly fine. I meant that Menina's tricks with her horse are most exciting, that's all. Now, I believe I shall go inside. Gigette, go on ahead and tell Cook I would like a cool drink. The lemon water, if he has it," she called after the maid.

He watched with concern as another maid helped his mother back into the castle. She did not seem to have been taxed by all the excitement, thank God. Bevier then turned to Menina, who had been standing with him all the while. "My mother should not be overset like that," he said with a severe look. "It is bad for her health."

Her green eyes widened, startled, at the chill in his voice. "I do not ask her to watch me, my Lord," Menina replied politely, "and she is free to stop when she feels that the excitement is getting too much for her. I trust your mother enough to set her own limits."

"Her limits have been set long ago by people who know better than you. Reading, sewing, playing music, and an occasional walk around the garden. That is all that is allowed her."

Menina looked slightly abashed, but then her chin raised defiantly. "Well, then," she replied, sounding a little more tart, "we might have a bit of a problem, because I do not read, sew or play music."

"If you expect to stay on here at Catalum, you will learn how."

"Does this mean, my Lord, that I can no longer exercise Afreet?"

He had forgotten about the horse. It was a prime specimen and it would be a shame if the animal grew fat and lazy. "I shall exercise him."

She had the audacity to smirk. "Then I wish you the best of luck."

* * *

Arda did not take Bevier's new set of rules very well. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded when she stormed his study barely an hour after Menina's spectacle. "You are barring me from watching Menina ride her horse? You are barring Menina from riding?"

Bevier looked up from the book he was reading. He had never seen his mother look so incensed in over twenty years. "It is for your own good, Mother," he told her. "Remember, Doctor Boutin said you were to avoid getting too excited. It is bad for your heart."

"Nonsense," the dowager viscountess snapped. "Everyone needs a bit of excitement every now and then and I am perfectly capable of handling the excitement of watching Menina on a horse. Besides, where is Doctor Boutin now, Bevier?" she continued. "He is _dead_. He died while you were in Matherion. I expect he died of boredom."

"You will not die of boredom if you don't watch Menina and that horse, Mother. There are many other things for you to do."

"But everything I _want_ to do is forbidden by you and the late Doctor Boutin!" She sent a glacial look down her nose at her son. "You have not heard the last of this from me, Bevier. We shall talk of this again soon." With that, she swept grandly from his study, slamming the door behind her.

Arda continued to glare daggers at him all through the rest of the day, while Menina looked on in quiet amusement. Unlike his mother, the younger woman accepted the new restrictions without a single word of protest. Instead, whenever Bevier looked at her, she favored him with a sweet smile. 

It was as if she had something up her sleeve.

* * *

He found out what it was the very next morning: besides Menina, Afreet would allow none other to mount him.

The moment he found out who awaited him in the corral outside the stables, the black stallion whinnied angrily and shied, scaring the grooms. "What are you waiting for?" Bevier ordered. "Slip the harness over his head!"

"We _can't_, milord!" the head groom protested. "I swear the beast is possessed! He's tryin' to kill us!"

Indeed, without Menina present to control him, Afreet was uncontrollable, threatening to bite or kick anyone brave enough to come near. And if administered by an animal as big as himself, the injuries could be lethal.

To his credit, Bevier tried his best to curb Afreet. He remained even after all the grooms had fled, ordering the beast to calm down, then later trying to grab its reins and jump onto its back. But the black stallion refused to obey and eluded capture, galloping around and around the corral before tiring of the game. As Bevier watched, sweaty, dusty and disgruntled, Afreet trotted back into the stables with a flippant swish of his tail in farewell. 

Then, as luck would have it, the first person he met back in the castle was Menina. Unlike him, she looked fresh, clean and cheerful in a gown of pale yellow. "Back so soon, my Lord?" she asked mildly. Her eyes flicked to the hoofprint decorating the front of his doublet. "How was your exercise with Afreet?"

"Just fine, thank you," he replied.

Menina smiled. She knew her horse, and judging from Bevier's appearance, it seemed not to have gone well, but the man's lofty expression told her that he was not about to tell her so. "I am happy to hear that Afreet has taken to you," she told him. "He is usually not very accepting of strangers." She put a finger to her chin and assumed a thoughtful expression. "Indeed, he is usually not very accepting of anyone at all. It was quite a task, training him. That is why we named him 'Afreet' — it is Rendorish for 'demon,' you know."

Bevier's dark eyes flashed, but his voice remained even. "Yes, he is a very spirited animal," he agreed. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must get cleaned up for afternoon services. You will be attending chapel, will you not?"

"Most certainly, my Lord," Menina replied, calmly meeting the challenge in his voice. "It is, after all, the…_proper_ thing to do."


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **David & Leigh Eddings own Sir Bevier, the burly workman (look him up in The Hidden City) and Archprelate Dolmant. Menina, Afreet, Arda and the Baron Gregor are mine. I also own Queen Linde. You'll see her again later in the story. 

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to SweetLee, Lady Cinnibar, Iolo and Cay for reviewing!

Chapter Two 

It had been a week since Bevier had barred her from riding and Menina was bored. 

After a few days with the dowager viscountess and her ladies, she discovered that she had absolutely no talent for music. The books they read aloud to each other were devotional and instructional works that caused her to nod off. And if she weren't learning to sew by altering Arda's old gowns to fit her, Menina would not have picked up a needle at all. 

Arda was bored, too. "What a shame that you can no longer ride, my dear," she told Menina as they took a sedate stroll through the gardens one morning. "You were poetry in motion on that horse."

"Thank you, my Lady," Menina replied. 

"There is none more sorry than I. Watching you ride was the high point of my day. I have tried to persuade my son to relent many times, but he refuses to do so."

_Stupid, stubborn man. He was doubtless waiting to see how long Menina would last before she would break down and beg him to let her ride again. Well, _she_ was waiting to see how long _he_ would last before he finally gave up trying to bend Afreet to his will. She saw him come in day after day, dusty and tired; and heard the grooms' tales. According to them, he had yet to mount the stallion at all. _

Poor Afreet. He was probably longing for a proper run as much as she was. She missed riding so sorely that she had begun to dream about it. The feeling of the wind in her hair, her heart pounding in time to Afreet's hoofbeats, was haunting her slumber. But she would never admit this to Bevier. A secret for a secret.

"It was kind of you to speak to Lord Bevier on my behalf, my Lady," Menina consoled the older woman. The path turned toward the stables. "Might we walk past the stables? I would like to visit Afreet if I may."

"Certainly, my dear. I am sure your horse misses you, too."

They walked down the wide, stone-paved path lined with neatly clipped hedges. Tall shade trees growing on either side touched branches overhead, forming a dappled canopy that to protect delicate skins from the harsh Arcian sun.

As they neared the stables, Menina heard hoofbeats and her heart picked up its pace. She forced herself to maintain a slow pace to avoid tiring the dowager viscountess, and the corral gradually came into view.

The enclosure stood away from the gardens and in direct sunlight, bounded by a simple rail fence around which the grooms were standing. Bevier stood inside the corral, arms akimbo, squinting at Afreet as the stallion galloped in gay circles around him. 

"Will you look at that?" Arda huffed as she watched her son run up to the stallion, grasp a handful of his mane, and just narrowly miss gaining purchase upon his back. "Bevier forbids you to ride, yet he cannot even get onto your horse himself! I do not know much about horseflesh, but I know that yours is a fine specimen. He shall grow fat and lazy if you are unable to exercise him properly."

"I do not know that, my Lady," Menina remarked, grinning. "Afreet seems to be getting enough exercise running from your son."

* * *

Bevier's practice with Afreet was cut short one day when a maidservant relayed his mother's orders that he make himself presentable for the noon meal. The dowager viscountess was expecting a guest, the maid informed him.

The guest turned out to be the Baron Gregor, lord of the neighboring estate. Bevier found that he had changed little when the older man was ushered into the castle hall. "Well met, my Lord," he greeted his guest, bowing politely.

"Well met, my Lord," Gregor replied, inclining his head with its mane of thick white hair, "and welcome home. Please excuse my late greetings — I have been away on business and heard tidings of your return only recently."

"Think nothing of it," Bevier assured him with a smile. The baron had always been a good neighbor. He was also possessed of good manners and a quiet air of authority that reminded Bevier of Lord Abriel, the former Preceptor of the Cyrinic Order who had perished during the mission to Matherion. "Shall we be seated? My mother will join us soon."

A manservant ushered them to a table set up in a shady spot overlooking the back garden. "I hope you do not mind lunching outdoors," Bevier said as a footman brought out cups of wine. He could afford to be less formal now that the niceties have been observed. He had known the baron all his life, after all. "It is a practice my mother seems to favor these days."

"It is not a problem," Gregor assured him. "I visited Catalum a few times while you were gone to look over estate matters for the dowager viscountess, and she has always entertained me here."

Bevier smiled. This was the first he had heard of the baron's visits. "Thank you for keeping an eye on the estate, my Lord, and for not saying anything when my mother dragged you out here."

"Both were my pleasure, Bevier." Presently, a cool breeze blew, stirring the leafy branches overhead and the dappled shadows they cast below. "This is a very nice place to dine, and the fresh air seems to agree with your mother, does it not?"

"She is looking better now than she did when I left her," Bevier admitted.

Presently, Arda emerged from the castle, accompanied as usual by Menina, and both men rose to acknowledge their presence. "Oh, do sit down, both of you," the dowager viscountess said, "we are all friends here."

Of course, neither man obeyed. Bevier remained standing as Gregor bent courteously over his mother's hand. "My Lady, you grow more beautiful every time I visit."

She giggled girlishly, a sound he had not heard in years. "You are too kind, my Lord."

The baron then bent over Menina's hand. "And Lady Menina, it is always a pleasure to see you."

The young woman smiled. "You address me improperly, my Lord. I am no lady."

Bevier was horrified at the uncouth reply, but a small part of him was somewhat amused by it as well. _No, she certainly is no lady. _

"There are ladies who are ladies by virtue of their birth," Gregor told her, "and there are those like you who are ladies by virtue of what they have in their hearts."

Arda smiled fondly. "What a lovely thing to say," she said. "Now, shall we dine?"

That afternoon, they were served a pleasant meal of fresh fish served in a light tomato sauce, a roast capon, lettuce salad, cheese, some white bread and fruit. The light, simple fare went well with the experience of dining outdoors. The view of the garden, the snatches of gentle birdsong and sun-warmed breezes were as much a part of the meal as the food itself.

What Bevier enjoyed most was the rapport between everyone at the table. Both his mother and Menina had said little to him ever since his new set of rules came into effect. The presence of a guest, especially of one as dear to the family as Gregor, was just the thing to draw Arda out and restore her good spirits. 

Menina and the baron seemed familiar with one another as well, probably due to his previous visits to Catalum. He tolerated her unorthodox ways, but only up to a certain point, Bevier noted with approval as Gregor gently reminded her to use her fork and not her knife to bring food to her mouth. She smiled and complied, showing that she responded well to his guidance.

They obviously got on well together. Bevier began to wonder whether he could offer his unofficial ward to his neighbor in marriage.

* * *

The idea was shattered only hours later, when Menina made an innocent observation that hit him with such force that it could have come from a catapult.

They were walking through the gardens after afternoon services. Gregor was escorting Bevier's mother down the shady path a few yards ahead when Menina leaned toward Bevier and whispered, "They make a lovely couple, don't they?"

Bevier whirled toward her, stunned. "What did you just say?"

"I said that the baron and your mother make a lovely couple."

"That's insane."

"Why? He is in love with her."

_"WHAT?"_ He glanced toward where the older man and his mother were walking on without them, deep in conversation. He watched Arda throw back her head and laugh heartily at something Gregor had said. His mother's eyes were sparkling when she looked up at him. "But how could that be?"

"How could that not be?" Menina asked. "Your mother is a lovely woman. The baron would be a fool not to love her."

"But it is most improper! My mother is _married!"_

"She is a widow," she corrected Bevier, "and the baron is a widower of the same age. I understand a relationship between two such people is still proper, unless someone passed a new Church teaching on the matter while I was not looking."

He glared down at her. "Archprelate Dolmant is the only one who has the authority to do such a thing," he told her crisply, "and no, he has not passed any new Church teachings since the one regarding the Elene God's identity as the Absolute Good and the Absolute Truth two years ago. Nevertheless," he went on, "the dowager viscountess is my mother and—"

"And she is still a woman, with a woman's emotions and — dare I say it? — needs," Menina told him, savoring the knight's scandalized gasp. "A woman does not die when her husband does. My mother did not die when my father passed away. There was enough love in her heart for another man, and she married Stepfather."

Presently, they walked past the corral near the stables. Menina turned from the impotent fury in Bevier's gaze, completely forgetting about the man beside her to drink in the sight of Afreet, taking a run in the afternoon sun. 

Did he miss her, too? she wondered. Afreet was galloping his heart out, as if he were happy enough without a rider; but suddenly, the stallion whinnied loudly and trotted toward the fence.

Heedless of the sun and the dust, she came forward to pat him on the nose. "Are you well, my friend?" Menina asked, looking him over closely.

"I assure you that the grooms are taking the best possible care of him," Bevier said as he came up behind her. He glared at Afreet when the black stallion snorted disdainfully at his approach. 

Menina laughed and rubbed her horse's neck. "Yes, I can see that he is well-fed and his coat gleams like silk," she replied. "You are far too vain and greedy to keep the grooms away for long, are you not, Afreet?"

* * *

True to her word, Arda continued to press her son into relenting and allowing Menina to ride again; however, he remained adamant. One morning, she decided to try a new tactic. "We shall not be sewing today," she announced after she finished dressing. "This morning, I wish to go out."

"But, my lady," a maid protested, "you know how the morning sun disagrees with you."

"Nonsense! We get along perfectly fine. Now, have the footmen set up a pavilion in the garden, by the stables, and bring out chairs and refreshments. Today, we shall be watching my son ride." The dowager viscountess' mouth twisted wryly. "Or try to, anyway."

And so it was that Bevier's still futile attempts to mount and ride Afreet gained an audience. 

Bevier became aware of their presence when he heard a smattering of applause after the intractable black stallion galloped away from him, whinnying mockingly. Through the clouds of dust left in Afreet's wake, the knight could make out a cluster of pastel-gowned figures sitting in the shade of a striped tent. "Good show, my son," came his mother's voice. "You almost had him that time."

"What are you doing here, Mother?" he asked, brushing at his clothes and walking toward the fence bounding the corral. 

"A very good morning to you, too, Bevier," she said in a pleasant voice, as calm and regal as Her Royal Majesty Queen Linde herself. "In answer to your question, I have become bored by sewing, reading and music. I am now seeking other amusements. Ones that do not overexcite me, of course," she added piously.

He did not miss the subtle dig at his lack of control over Menina's horse. "Well, I hope I am amusing you," he said evenly. Now that she was much stronger, his mother was proving to be alarmingly stubborn and difficult to please.

"Oh, you are, my dear. And Doctor Boutin, were he still alive, would be pleased to note that you are looking after my health most vigilantly. Better than I do, in fact," she added. "Gigette, Lord Bevier looks overheated. Would you please bring him some water?"

"Yes, my lady," the little maid responded.

Bevier accepted the cool drink with a nod of thanks. As he drank, his eyes fell on Menina, who was seated beside his mother. She was not smirking at him with ill-disguised amusement like he expected — indeed, she was not looking at him at all. The redheaded young woman's eyes were trained instead on Afreet, following the horse as he galloped around the corral. 

Although physically she was seated just a few yards away, he was sure that in her mind she was on Afreet's back, riding like the wind. Her back was straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap, and her full lips slightly parted. 

Bevier returned the goblet and turned away quickly, but Menina's image was burned into his brain. Every line of her body bespoke longing. As he went back to the seemingly impossible task of disciplining the black stallion, he took cold comfort in the knowledge that she looked to be having as much difficulty with the situation as he.

* * *

For the next few days, the dowager viscountess and her ladies continued to watch Bevier, hoping to goad him into letting Menina ride again, but the knight proved to be as stubborn as his mother and still could not be swayed. "It is not working, my lady," Menina had told Arda one afternoon. "Watching your son try to ride Afreet is only increasing his resolve."

"Nonsense," the older woman had replied in a firm voice. "We shall wear his resistance down eventually."

The redheaded woman sighed as she shuffled down the garden path. It was heartening to see that the dowager viscountess was more lively now than she had been when Menina had first come to Catalum; and she was touched that Arda was siding with her and against her own son. It was just that this new strategy to try and humiliate Bevier into relinquishing Afreet was making Menina miserable. When they had kept to the castle, it had been somewhat easy to keep the black stallion out of mind. To see Afreet and not be able to ride him was terribly frustrating.

She made her way through the shadow-dappled walkways, past the neatly manicured shrubs, and near the corral. It was safe to pass there, as Bevier was done "practicing" for the day and Afreet was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the corral was empty save for a workman unloading bales of hay from a cart. He was tossing down the bales as if they were weightless and singing an old-fashioned air in a rich baritone.

Drawn by the melody, Menina came nearer. As she reached to fence defining the corral, the workman stopped singing. He looked up and smiled at her. "'Tis a fine day, is it not, my lady?"

She found herself smiling back, not in the least afraid despite the workman's massive bulk and fearsome visage. "Yes, it is indeed," she replied, wondering at how such wonderful music could come from someone with beetled brows and a lantern jaw.

"Are you here to ride?"

Menina shook her head sadly. "I am forbidden to ride."

The workman looked surprised and inspected her closely. "You are with child, then?"

She blushed and shook her head again. Looking back, she realized she could have been indignant at a stranger asking such an intimate question, but the Maranatoi were frank about such things, as they made their living by breeding and raising horses. "No. I am just…forbidden."

His jutting brows came together in a perplexed frown. "You are forbidden to ride for no reason? That makes no sense."

Menina sighed. "There is a reason," she said. "The lord of the manor forbids me to ride because his mother, who is of delicate health, likes to watch me and he fears that it overexcites her. He is concerned about his mother's health, that is all."

"That is laudable. Yet it makes you miserable."

"That it does," she admitted, marveling at the astute observation. "I like to do many things, but I love to ride most of all. I do not fear that my horse will grow fat and lazy, but he misses me, and I him."

The workman's expression softened. "I can see that the bond between you and your mount is strong."

"It is." She looked down at the dust-streaked hem of her gown. "I know I do not have to let Lord Bevier's rules govern me, but I care deeply for the Lady Arda myself and would not want to endanger her health in any way."

"Well, the solution should be simple enough." The workman winked at her. "If you wish to ride but do not want the dowager viscountess to be able to watch you, then ride when she is asleep."

Hope burst in Menina's heart, followed quickly by trepidation. "Oh, I couldn't. It would be deceitful and Lord Bevier would send me away if he found out."

"Worry not, my lady," he assured her, sounding supremely confident. "He will not send you away."

* * *

The workman was gone when Menina returned to the corral the next day. He did not appear the day after, or the day after that. It was as if he had simply vanished, leaving her with a most practical yet highly unethical solution to her problem.

She tried her best to push the thought from her mind. She told herself over and over that it was not right. But the workman's suggestion haunted her in her dreams, and a little voice inside her always quickly reminded her that Bevier's ridiculous restriction was not right in the first place. 

For many days she thought, and many nights she lay awake, pondering the solution and its implications; until one night she could bear it no more.

Menina slid out of bed, taking care not to disturb the maid sleeping on a pallet on the floor, and silently drew on her riding clothes. She was thankful for soft Rendorish cotton, for her garments were designed to go on and move silently in the still desert air.

She was thankful for well-oiled hinges that made nary a sound when she opened and closed the door to the chamber assigned her.

She was thankful for supple leather that muffled her footsteps as she stole away to the stables.

She was thankful for her well-trained horse, who recognized her scent immediately but stood absolutely still while she mounted him, then sped away on swift and silent feet.

And she was thankful for the cool night air, which finally slid through her hair like a long-lost lover's fingers once more.

* * *

"Well, _finally!" a rich baritone rumbled in a place beyond the ken of man. "I've been having a devil of a time putting that stubborn man to sleep!"_


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: Bevier belongs to David & Leigh Eddings. I own his house, his lands, his people and even his mother. And, of course, I also own Menina and Afreet.**

**Author's Notes: Thank you for reading!**

_Chapter Three_

"Good morning, Menina, my dear!" Arda said, as the younger woman appeared to break her fast in the castle hall. "My, don't you look lovely today! Doesn't she look lovely today, Bevier?" she asked her son with a sharp prod.

"Yes, yes, she does," said Bevier automatically, too engrossed in buttering a roll to take more than a cursory look.

"My Lord is too kind" was Menina's merry reply.

"There is a positive _glow about you this morning, my girl," the dowager viscountess told her. "Did you have a good night's sleep?"_

"Yes, my Lady — the best I've had in weeks!"

_Someone was certainly cheerful this morning,_ Bevier noted as he finally looked up at her.

His first thought was that his mother was right. Menina was indeed glowing. This morning, her face was alight. So, too, were her vivid hair and eyes, as if her entire body was caught up in her good spirits.

"You are not with child, are you?" his mother then joked.

She laughed heartily, and the echoes of her mirth bounced off the vaulted ceiling. "No, my Lady, I am not. I am just in excellent spirits today."

"Well, I am delighted to hear that. Goodness knows you have not had much to smile about lately."

Bevier rolled his eyes at his mother's barb and turned silently to his breakfast. 

Later that morning, he, too, gained reason to smile when Elag brought him his Lochaber ax, its handle restored, and blade sharpened and polished to a high sheen. 

The weapon came to his hand like an old friend. Bevier took a few practice swings, unaware that all the servants had fled to a safe distance. "Good to have you back, old girl," he murmured. For some reason, he had always referred to his ax in the feminine. "Let's get reacquainted, shall we?"

The grooms started in alarm when Bevier brought his ax to the corral. "Milord," one of them stammered, "you aren't goin' to use that on—"

"Certainly not," the knight assured the groom. "It's just that this has been newly repaired and Afreet and I wish to practice today, don't we, Afreet?" he asked the horse. Afreet's nervous whicker and shuffle was tremendously satisfying.

The black stallion stood stock-still as the grooms quickly saddled and harnessed him. Bevier felt a surge of triumph when Afreet allowed him to mount without incident, dampened only slightly by the fact that it had taken an implicit threat to curb the horse to his will. 

He nudged the horse's flanks with his heels, and they were off like an arrow. 

Mere moments later, Bevier came to understand why Menina loved to ride. Afreet, a product of generations of careful breeding and training techniques, was as magnificent to ride as to look at. He was highly intelligent, responding to the slightest direction, and moved beneath his rider as smoothly as water. Afreet ran like quicksilver, but his hooves did not make a sound. It was as if he were treading on the wind.

Contrary to his initial reaction, the black stallion did not show the least bit of alarm when Bevier laid about him with his Lochaber ax. The weapon drew cold, white arcs as he beheaded one imaginary opponent and cut another in two, and Afreet knew just how to move his body to avoid the lethal strikes. It was as if he were imagining Bevier's victims around him as well.

The corral was littered with countless imaginary bodies when Bevier slowed Afreet to a walk. It was then that he became aware of his mother and her ladies watching him (in silence, for a change) from their customary spot in the shade. He had probably been too absorbed in his exercise to note their arrival.

Bevier acknowledged his mother with a grave salute as he came to a stop. He dismounted and laid a hand on Afreet's neck. The horse did not move a muscle. "That was a good run," Bevier said. He smiled as Afreet gave him a look of what he imagined to be grudging respect. "Next time, we shall try it without the ax, all right?"

The horse snorted and butted him gently before walking toward the corral fence where Menina was waiting. Bevier stripped off his gloves and left them and his Lochaber ax with a waiting groom before walking up to the woman and the horse.

Unlike his mother's inscrutable expression, Menina met him with a bright smile. "You enjoyed your ride, my Lord." It was a statement of fact rather than a question.

He saw no reason to lie. "I did indeed," he told her. He patted Afreet's neck again and the horse's tail twitched. "He was a pleasure to ride."

"I am glad I was able to share that pleasure with you."

_Surely that came out wrong._ Bevier blushed, disconcerted at her talk of sharing pleasure, but Menina's wide green eyes and sincere smile told him that she was unaware of her faux pas. 

It was a while before he noticed — and began to puzzle over — the fact that she had congratulated him instead of begrudging his major victory over Afreet.

* * *

After that first ride, Afreet seemed to have judged Bevier as worthy of him, and remained cooperative even without the presence of the ax. 

The black stallion proved a tad friskier and more reckless than the knight was accustomed to, but Bevier had to admit that he had yet to encounter such speed, intelligence and agility in another horse of his size. He also feared that riding Afreet would spoil him for any other horse — his loyal gray war-horse came to mind — but at the same time he longed for it with a disturbing intensity.

Bevier awoke one night from a dream of a moonlight ride. He lay for a while among his blankets, willing himself to go back to sleep, but a sudden impulse to go and visit Afreet tugged him back into consciousness.

He threw up an arm and frowned. _Are you mad? Stealing to the stables in the middle of the night is just not done!_

Still he was unable to go back to sleep. _You are on vacation, are you not?_

_I have basically spent the last several years on the back of a horse. I would expect that a vacation would entail being as far away from that as possible!_

_Well, you've been spending time with Afreet every day for the past few weeks._

_That's different. He needs to be exercised._

_Then exercise him._

_I did that this morning._

_Was he tired?_

Bevier pondered that point for a few moments before giving in to the temptation with a growl. He rolled out of bed and got dressed. Perhaps he would not ride, but take a walk instead. He was certain that it would do him good.

* * *

So, Bevier finally knew how she felt whenever she rode, Menina thought as she stole toward the stables in the darkness. Riding Afreet was a singular experience and he obviously enjoyed it. 

She smiled and a spring entered her step. Perhaps it would now be easier to convince him to allow her to ride again.

* * *

_Snap._

Bevier spun around at the tinny sound and glimpsed a furtive movement in the darkened path leading to the stables. He scowled and proceeded at a quicker pace, a cautious hand on the hilt of the dagger he had remembered to take with him. There was very little thievery in Catalum, but spending time with the young thief Talen had taught him that one must always be prepared for any emergencies. 

* * *

Menina was grateful for the well-oiled hinges that silenced the opening of the stable door. She slipped in through the narrow opening she had made for herself and made the now-familiar way to the stall in which she knew Afreet was kept. Sensing her presence, the black stallion nickered softly in greeting. 

She had just begun to murmur a reply when she was pulled into a dizzying whirlwind. The next thing she knew, she was pinned up against the stable wall, cold steel at her throat.

The would-be thief gasped — a high, feminine sound — and Bevier drew back when he became aware of the soft, warm body beneath his own. He leapt away slightly, sheathing his dagger, but kept her pinned to the wall with an arm braced across her shoulders. "Menina." 

She took a luxurious gulp, relieved that the blade was gone. "Yes, my Lord."

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I am doing here?"

Bevier tried not to think about her sneaking away to meet with a lover. Church Knights, especially Cyrinics, did not entertain such impure thoughts. "I think you are here to see Afreet," he said finally. "Perhaps to ride him, too." Mere nighttime visits could not make her glow the way she did in the mornings.  "Is he worth your disobedience?" he asked her.

"You've ridden Afreet, my Lord — what do you think?" Menina replied, inwardly cursing her bravado. If she kept talking back, she was going to be turned out of the estate at dawn! 

"I think he is a singular mount," he admitted. "I can in some measure understand what drove you to do this thing."

"I had hoped you would."

"Nevertheless, you have disobeyed my orders. This lack of discipline is unacceptable."

He felt her tense beneath his arm. "Are…are you turning me out, then, my Lord?"

There was a pregnant pause. "No," Bevier finally said. "As a Knight of the Church and as your guardian, it is my duty to instill in you the virtues of continence and honesty."

Menina's shoulders relaxed again. "Yes, my Lord."

"You must learn prudence, too. All sorts of evil things could have happened to you during a rash adventure like this, some of them not fit to be mentioned in polite company." He was teaching her a lesson, he told himself as he leaned closer to her. "I could have been anyone."

She was acutely conscious of Bevier's closeness, of the rich sandalwood scent coming from his clothing, of his breath fanning hotly over her cheek. "Well, my Lord, I am glad it was you who found me," she whispered. "Because otherwise I would not have been able to do _this—!"_

Bevier wheezed when the most unspeakable pain exploded throughout his body. It radiated from a particularly sensitive area and drove him to his knees and beyond.

And thus was he found, lying in a heap at Menina's feet. "Milord!" exclaimed Boniface, the head groom. "What happened?"

Naturally, Bevier was unable to reply. A couple of stable boys helped him up. "He looks like he's been kicked in the stones!" the one to his left said.

"Watch yer mouth, pup, there's a lady present!" Boniface admonished him, then nodded deferentially to Menina. "Let's get you back into the castle, milady…you can visit your horse again in the morning…"

_She is no lady!_ Bevier managed to think through the pain clouding his mind.

He recovered enough to walk on his own by the time they reached the castle, where he found his mother standing in the hall. "Mother! What are you doing here?"

"I woke up all of a sudden with the feeling that something was wrong!" she replied. "What on earth happened?"

Bevier straightened as he realized that this was the perfect opportunity to expose Menina's deception. He pointed at the young woman dramatically and announced, "If you must know, Mother, I found her in the stables just moments ago!"

"Is this true, my dear?" Arda asked Menina, her expression plainly shocked. _And well she should be,_ Bevier thought smugly.

The younger woman was pale, but to her credit, she nodded. "Yes, my Lady."

"And you were going there because you wanted to ride Afreet?"

"Yes, my Lady."

There was a tense silence and, to Bevier's surprise, the dowager viscountess enfolded Menina in a hug. "Oh, my poor girl," she crooned, stroking the bright hair.

_"Mother!"_ Bevier exclaimed. "You would take _her_ side after she deceives us all and steals away in the night like a common thief?"

Arda glared at him over the younger woman's shoulder. "She would never have done so if not for you and your stupid rules!"

"Those rules are for your own good!"

"Well, they are doing me more harm than good," she pointed out. "I take much pleasure in watching Menina ride. She does it with much skill, but what I love most is the joy I see on her face. By forbidding her to ride, Bevier, you are making me doubly miserable."

"But Mother—"

"But nothing. I know my limits, Bevier; and I assure you, after the kind of things you have been involved in these past several years, it would take much more than the sight of Afreet jumping over a hedge to kill me."

"That was Church business!"

"And I am your mother. This silliness has gone on long enough," the dowager viscountess declared as she put Menina from her. "Starting tomorrow, Boniface, Mistress Menina is allowed to ride again. See that the grooms and stable boys are duly informed."

"Yes, milady," the head groom replied.

Menina's smile caused Bevier to draw himself up indignantly. "_I_ am the head of this household, Mother."

"And, as I said, _I_ am your mother." 

* * *

The incidents of that night predictably opened a rift between mother and son. Bevier remained courteous in accordance with his upbringing, but he still felt that the dowager viscountess had publicly undermined his authority and it had hurt his pride. 

Arda, for her part, seemed to take it in stride. She returned to her old routine of watching Menina ride as if she had never stopped. And Menina returned to riding Afreet as if _she had never stopped. _She probably never had,_ Bevier thought wryly, but he knew that was not true. He had seen the longing looks she had given Afreet on the days she had watched Bevier exercise the black stallion; and, in all fairness, the horse was not wont to forget his mistress so easily._

Seated in his study, Bevier listened to the sound of hoof beats and his mother's loud applause. It seemed as if she and her ladies were trying to make sure that he heard them cheering Menina on.

He abandoned his reading to stand by the window and saw Afreet gallop past where the dowager viscountess sat, his rider's robes fluttering in the breeze. The black stallion turned right and galloped away from his audience, then wheeled around sharply.

Bevier held his breath as Menina stood up on her mount's back, arms held out for balance. Afreet did not slow down the slightest bit the whole time. The knight clenched his fists as the beast bore down on a stable boy standing in the middle of the lawn. A strangled exclamation burst from him when Menina bent down and took something from the stable boy as Afreet galloped past.

Arda and her ladies applauded loudly as the young woman held up her prize. Bevier saw that it was a bouquet of flowers. Afreet slowed to a trot before finally coming to a stop directly in front of his audience. The black stallion bent his forelegs in a bow, and Menina jumped off his back to present the flowers to the dowager viscountess.

Bevier watched his mother reward Menina with a warm embrace. It occurred to him that the young woman was probably dusty, sweaty and smelled like her horse to boot, but Arda apparently did not care.

Well, _he_ did not care, either, Bevier thought somewhat childishly. He did not care that his own mother had all but abandoned him for a foreign heathen interloper.

He did not care that it had been ages since she had last embraced him the way she was now embracing Menina.

He did not care that he no longer basked in the brightness of her proud smile.

* * *

_This was not good._

Menina strode down the gallery toward Bevier's study, her skirts rustling briskly with every step. She kept her chin up as she walked past the portraits of past viscounts of Catalum, all of who seemed to be watching her with marked disapproval. They would approve, she thought, if they knew what she was planning to do.

Or else they would blame everything on her.

She paused outside the heavy oaken door, took a deep breath, and knocked. 

"Who is it?" Bevier asked from inside the room.

"It is Menina, my Lord," she replied. "I need to speak with you."

There was a short pause. "Enter," he said finally.

Menina smoothed her skirts before pushing open the door and entering the study. She found Bevier seated at his desk, a book spread open before him. His expression was pleasant, but his voice cool. "How may I help you?" he asked.

Since he did not invite her to be seated, she stood before the highly polished table, feeling like an errant brought before the Maranatoi tribal council. "It is about your mother."

Bevier's dark eyes widened in alarm. "My mother?" he asked, sounding more alert now. "Why? What is wrong? Where is she?"

"She is taking her customary afternoon nap," Menina told him, holding out a hand to prevent him from rising. "The dowager viscountess remains healthy, my Lord. You need not worry about that. I have come to see you because…she is unhappy."

"Unhappy? I thought she said she enjoyed watching you ride."

"She still enjoys it, but she is upset over your distancing yourself from her."

The knight's expression shuttered. "It does not look that way."

"She is your mother, my Lord." 

"So I have been reminded."

Menina glared at him. He sounded like a petulant child; the only thing missing was the pout. "She is your mother, and she loves you. She misses you."

"She has you."

"But _you_ are her son, my Lord. A rift between a mother and her child, especially over so petty a misunderstanding, is unwholesome." She clasped her hands tightly in front of her to prevent from wringing them nervously. "I would…I would propose a truce."

"A truce?" he repeated, arching a black eyebrow. For one so trim and lean, his eyebrows were surprisingly thick.

Menina blinked to restore her train of thought. "Yes, my Lord, a truce. I know that you and I have not gotten along too well in the past, but I also know that we do have something in common — we both have the dowager viscountess' best interests at heart. Perhaps we could learn to at least tolerate each other, for your mother's sake."

She could not help but wring her hands just the tiniest bit while Bevier pondered her proposal. "_You care about my mother's health?" he finally asked._

"Yes, my Lord, I do," she replied, bristling at the challenge in his voice but managing to keep her voice even. "She was not at all well when I first came to Catalum — she was prone to terrible megrims and often took to her bed. She would eat very little, and not allow the curtains to be drawn because the morning sunlight disagreed with her. It was very distressing."

"Yes, it was," he agreed. "She was often in poor health until recently…until you came along, in fact. What did you do to my mother?"

"I? Why, nothing, my Lord." Menina blushed. "Nothing, that is, until I tired of sitting in darkened rooms all the time and rousted her out of bed, then dragged her outside to watch me ride." 

A sound escaped Bevier. It sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. Menina's guess was confirmed when a dimple appeared in his cheek and she saw that he was smiling. She smiled back. "I performed only a few tricks in the beginning, my Lord," she added, "and to this day we keep your mother's medicines close by, just in case."

"I suppose I owe you an apology, then," Bevier said. "Had I known that you were taking precautions to safeguard my mother's health, then perhaps I would have been more lenient with you."

Menina grinned. "No, you would not."

He pondered it for a moment, then grinned as well. "No, I suppose I would not."

* * *

Bevier escorted Menina down to dinner that evening. He had to admit he had enjoyed their earlier conversation in his study, but that had been between just the two of them. To be civil in public was another thing altogether.

When she emerged from her rooms, he could tell that she had taken special pains with her appearance, perhaps in an effort to look more "proper." "You look very fetching this evening, mistress," he said as he offered her his arm.

Menina blushed and looked down at her pale-green-and-gold-striped skirts. Instead of her customary ribbon, her vivid hair was plaited and wound into a bun at the nape of her slender neck. "Thank you, my Lord."

"You must call me Bevier if we are to be friends."

"And you must call me Menina."

Arda was already seated in the dining room when they entered. "Good evening, Mother," Bevier said with a smile. "Please pardon our tardiness; as you can see, Menina decided to dress for dinner tonight."

Both women looked surprised at his good-natured teasing. "What?" he asked innocently as he seated Menina next to his mother. "Am I not entitled to make a joke now and then?" Apparently, only Sparhawk and Ulath could pull them off.

The dowager viscountess quickly recovered and beamed at them both. "Of course you can, my dear; and Menina, you look wonderful. Take your seat, Bevier, and let us pray so that the food can be served."

"Yes, Mother."

It was uncharacteristically chilly that night, but Bevier was warmed by the pleasure he saw in his mother's face.


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: Aphrael, Romalic, Bevier, and the universe in which they dwell all belong to David & Leigh Eddings. I only own Menina, Arda and Gregor.**

**Technical Notes: In the _Elenium_ and _Tamuli_ trilogies, Aphrael is known as the Child-Goddess. I thought it wasn't fair that she had a nickname while Romalic didn't, so I borrowed Chaldan's (the god of the Arends in the _Belgariad and __Malloreon) title and dubbed Romalic the Bull-God. I thought it fit him very well._**

**Author's Notes: Thanks to Iolo, zkat, SweetLee and LKS for reviewing, and thank you for reading :D Sorry about the delay in updating, not that it was my fault *glances sideways at ff.net***

_Chapter Four_

There was a little Styric girl seated on an overturned bucket in the village that morning. Passersby eyed her suspiciously at first, because Arcians were a rather rigid lot and had certain prejudices regarding "heathen" races, but her winsome smile and the merry song she played on her rude shepherd's pipes quickly put them at ease. Some of them even smiled at her in return, and gave her coins.

A burly workman sat down beside her to escape the oppressively hot day. Despite his massive build and rough clothing, his skin was pale, and not one strand of his curly black hair was out of place. If one looked closer, one would see that this workman had not a single callus on his large hands. "Good morning, little sister," he greeted the child. "How are today's pickings?"

The child lowered her pipes to reply. "Quite all right. I got a few smiles and several coins. No one let me kiss them, though."

The man's impressively beetled brows drew together. "Stop poaching the Elene God's followers, Aphrael. It's supremely bad form."

"And his sending missionaries to try and convert Styrics is not?"

"At least he is overt about it." He watched the little girl translocate her coins into the pocket of a stooped old woman. No one else seemed to notice — indeed, no one seemed to be aware that a workman and a child were seated in the dust, talking about evangelism. "And speaking of which, you still haven't returned the followers I lent you."

"I will soon."

Romalic, Bull-God of Styricum, sighed. For his flighty sister-goddess, "soon" often meant a millennium or two. Sometimes three. 

_"Flute?"_

Aphrael, Child-Goddess of Styricum, looked up at the sound of the nickname the Church Knights had given her. Her little face lit up at the sight of Bevier sitting atop his horse just a few feet away. "Bevier!" Again, for some reason, passersby did not seem to care that a Styric child was addressing an Elene nobleman by his first name. They did not seem to have heard her at all.

They did, however, still make way for Bevier as he dismounted and walked toward the pair. The knight was smiling — nervously, because he was not supposed to admit the existence of other gods besides the one he worshipped — but smiling nevertheless, because the little girl he called Flute was also a friend. "It's wonderful to see you," he asked after she had scrambled up into his arms and kissed him several times. Please, you must visit my home, you and, er…" He glanced at the roughly dressed character still lounging beside the overturned bucket.

The Child-Goddess smiled sweetly at the huge man. "Ah, I believe I must make some introductions at this point — Bevier, this is my brother Romalic, Bull-God of Styricum; and Romalic, I'm sure you already know Sir Bevier of the Cyrinic Knights of Arcium."

"I most certainly do," Romalic replied, rising to his feet. "Well met, Sir Bevier."

Bevier blanched. He had never known what Romalic looked like, but the Cyrinics' instructor in the Styric arts was a disciple and Bevier learned the name from his teacher. "Well met, uh…"

"Just Romalic will do, thank you."

The knight nodded politely to the burly god, then turned back to Aphrael. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and decided to look in on an old friend," she replied lightly. 

"Beware, Sir Knight," Romalic cautioned. "She may say she is just looking in on you, but it really means that she is about to meddle."

The little girl in Bevier's arms gave an offended huff. "I was really _only_ going to look in on him and that woman living in his house. I wasn't planning on her coming into his life and wanted to see if she was acceptable."

"Acceptable?" Bevier repeated, startled. 

"Think nothing of it, Bevier," Aphrael replied sweetly.

"What do you mean, 'acceptable'?" the knight demanded as she patted his cheek. "Is she part of some kind of divine plan I don't know about?"

"We all have our role in the scheme of things, my boy," Romalic told him grandly. "And do you find Menina acceptable, my sister?"

"She _is_ rather nice," the Child-Goddess admitted. "I saw her in the village with Bevier's mother this morning. She gave me an apple." 

Bevier rounded on Romalic. "How do you know her name?" he asked.

"Like Aphrael, I follow the lives of my Church Knights, too." The Bull-God smiled. "I just don't meddle as much as she does."

"Be nice," his sister-goddess chided. Her rosebud mouth curled into a pout at the wild look that had entered Bevier's eyes. "Why, Bevier, what's wrong? Is she not acceptable?"

"No!" the knight replied, putting Aphrael down. "She is _not_ acceptable — at least not in the way you are implying."

"But I wasn't implying anything, Bevier. I just wanted to see if she was nice."

"Ah…well…in that case, yes, she is acceptable. She is a very nice girl," Bevier babbled. "A bit of a hoyden and definitely nothing at all like a proper Arcian woman, perhaps, but she…has a good heart."

"Good," Romalic said. He sounded pleased.

The knight looked from one deity to the other, and then began backing away. "If you will excuse me, I just remembered that I'm going to be late for afternoon services…shall I expect you at my home later today?"

Aphrael smiled at Romalic. "Isn't he a sweet boy? We'll be in the area for a few more days," she told Bevier, "so we might drop in another time, all right?"

"Yes, yes, that's quite all right…now, if you will excuse me, I…goodbye." Bevier mounted his horse, managed a jerky nod, and then rode swiftly away.

"Now, look what you've done," the Child-Goddess admonished Romalic. "You've frightened him away."

"_I_ frightened him away?" the Bull-God protested mildly. "_You're the one who mentioned Menina."_

"How _do_ you know her name?" Aphrael's dark eyes widened at her brother-god's pleased smile. "_You_ brought her here?"

"It was a bit of a bother getting the Elene God's permission, but he relented as soon as I told him that I was merely helping add followers to his Church." Romalic buffed his nails on his tunic. "He's a reasonable fellow, really. One just has to know how to talk to him."

Aphrael rolled her eyes. He was the only one who was willing to sit next to the Elene God at parties. "Why did you bring her here _now?"_

The Bull-God shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't know. I suppose I was bored."

"Bevier's personal life _has become rather boring since he joined up with Sparhawk."_

"It was boring long before that," Romalic said as he conjured up a wooden harp out of thin air and began to play upon it.

"Well, as we are in agreement that Bevier is in need of some excitement," she said, "what are we going to do about it?"

* * *

The afternoon's encounter with Aphrael and Romalic unsettled Bevier. Not only did he speak to beings whose existence he was duty-bound to deny, but the brief conversation also opened the most disturbing possibilities to his otherwise unsullied mind.

_She is unacceptable. She is absolutely unacceptable._

"Bevier, may I have a word?"

He turned to find Gregor standing behind him, looking rather nervous. The baron had been their dinner guest that evening. "Certainly, my Lord," the younger man said. "What is on your mind?"

The baron stepped closer and lowered his voice so that the women, who were listening to a musician on the other end of the hall, could not hear. "It is…it is about your mother."

Bevier stiffened. "What about my mother?"

"I don't know if you've noticed," the older man stammered, his olive skin flushing a deep red, "but I care very deeply for her. My intentions are purely honorable, Bevier; in fact, I proposed marriage to her a few times while you were away. Arda refused me every time."

"Then perhaps she only looks upon you as a friend."

Gregor shook his snowy head. "No, I'm afraid I must disagree. I know that she is…fond of me, and not just as a friend."

"How are you so sure?"

The crimson in the baron's cheeks burned deeper. "She will not marry me," he said in a hushed whisper, "but she has said that she is willing to consider…an affair."

Bevier gasped. "My Lord, I shall have to call you out for that remark!"

"I mean no insult, Bevier. I have told you that I love Arda and want to marry her. I have, of course, rejected the idea of, er, alternate arrangements."

"As well you should." The younger man sighed. "I apologize, my Lord. I'm sure you understand that one does not like to hear about one's parents spoken about that way." He looked reflectively over at where his mother sat, exchanging whispered confidences with Menina. "And I must admit that my mother is actually capable of thinking such things. I would not have believed it before, but now…" Bevier shrugged helplessly. It was as if he had come home to an entirely different woman. Menina's presence had changed the dowager viscountess so drastically that he didn't recognize his own mother anymore.

Bevier's eyes widened as a fresh realization hit him. _Menina!_ This nonsense about having an affair had to be a result of her unwholesome influence over his mother!

Presently, a familiar trill of shepherd's pipes reached his ears. He jumped and spun around to find the child called Flute performing for the women. They were beaming and clapping along as the child danced to her own music, her little grass-stained feet flitting like doves.

Arda and Menina applauded as the little girl finished her performance with a low curtsy, and then scrambled onto the dowager viscountess's lap for kisses. She smiled and gave them willingly and protested when Flute was taken away. "She wasn't doing anything wrong, Bevier!"

"It was highly inappropriate behavior, Mother," he replied as he held the wriggling child out at arm's length. 

"Oh, pooh on inappropriate behavior. Put her down."

"No," Bevier insisted as he heard a childish giggle. Flute was laughing and pulling faces at Menina, who was making faces back. He shot the redheaded young woman a stern look and she quickly resumed a decent, normal expression.

"You're such a spoilsport, Bevier," Flute said petulantly as he carried her out of the hall. "I just wanted to meet that man who's in love with your mother."

"Well, you've met him," he replied. "What do you think?"

"I think he's very nice…but he _is_ awfully stodgy, isn't he? He should have jumped at the offer your mother was making."

Bevier reddened and set Flute down. "Please don't make him do that," he pleaded. The little girl laughed and disappeared with a _pop_.

"Really, Bevier," Arda scolded when he re-entered the hall. "You put that child out like she was a cat! Where is she?"

"I gave her a coin and sent her on her way," he told her, holding up a hand to silence his mother's protests. "She's half-wild, Mother. You wouldn't have been able to keep her here."

_Be nice, Aphrael remarked in his mind._

The dowager viscountess eyed him closely. "You seem to know that child very well," she observed.

"I met her during my travels with Sparhawk," Bevier replied casually. He gave a small laugh. "One wonders how she managed to find us, though!"

He turned away before his mother could ask any more questions and returned to the baron, who had been watching the exchange. "I'm sorry about the interruption, my Lord."

"That's quite all right," Gregor assured him. "I'm afraid this conversation did not go as I had planned, but at least I was able to say the important things."

The younger man managed a small smile. "It is tremendously reassuring to know that your intentions toward my mother are honorable, my Lord."

"So do you allow me to pay court to her?" the baron asked. "As head of her family, you do have some say in the matter."

Bevier's small smile twisted wryly. Perhaps Gregor thought his opinion carried some weight, but he was certain his mother would not. "I am sure my mother will not mind your suit. I cannot say whether or not she will receive it favorably, but you are welcome to try your luck."

* * *

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully and Bevier forgot all about Menina's possible role in his mother's desire to have an affair until the next day. He considerately waited until the afternoon, when she had finished exercising Afreet and after they had attended chapel, before summoning her to his study.

She came promptly. "You wanted to see me, Bevier?"

Bevier nodded and gestured for her to be seated. "The baron spoke to me last night," he told her.

Menina smiled. It was like the sun coming up. "Was it about your mother?" she asked eagerly. "Did he say that he loves her?"

"Yes. He said she is…favorably disposed toward him as well." He gave her a baleful stare; her smile faded slightly. "The baron says she wishes to have an affair with him."

She blushed and giggled, as if his mother's wanton behavior was the funniest thing in the world.

Bevier scowled. "The baron has, of course, refused. Intimacy without the sanctity of marriage is an abomination in the eyes of the Church."

"The Church does not have to know, my Lord. I'm sure your mother plans to be discreet."

His cheeks burned and he resolutely pushed the thought of his _mother being "discreet" from his mind. "The fact remains, Menina, that it is a sinful and dishonorable enterprise. And while the __Church may not know about it, God will."_

"Why is it dishonorable?" Menina asked. "They are both unattached and it is certain that there will be no bastard children born of that union."

"There is no union!"

"Not yet." 

Bevier glared at her. She looked back at him calmly. "You are not encouraging my mother to do this thing, are you?" he asked her in a low voice.

"Although you do not look like you will believe me, Bevier, the answer to that question is no. I did not know about her plans until you told me about them. However," she added, "I do not plan to say anything to encourage or discourage her. I see nothing foolish in a woman's desire to be loved in her old age."

"It is your duty as a daughter of the Church to ensure that your fellowman — or, in this case, fellow-woman — treads the righteous path."

Menina arched a slender ginger eyebrow. "Are you saying that I _can order your mother around?"_

"No, just that you must always point her in the right direction." 

"Well, I shall try my best, my Lord." Her generous mouth curled in a smile. "But I cannot guarantee that the dowager viscountess will take my advice — we all know what happened the _last time someone tried to tell her what to do."_

He watched her glide away with a frown. No matter what Aphrael and Romalic said, she was absolutely unacceptable.

She did not sew or play music. Good Lord, she did not even know how to read.

She was given to stealing at night — and to all other sorts of risky behavior, for all he knew. Not only did she sneak out at night like a thief; she rode like a harpy, too.

 All in all she did not behave like a proper Arcian woman should. _Absolutely unacceptable._

Just then, Bevier heard his mother's voice in the corridor outside his study. "Menina, my dear!" Arda trilled. "I have been looking all over for you! You must accompany me on a walk through the gardens. My favorite roses are in full bloom!"

He sighed and sat down as the sounds of feminine chatter faded into the distance. He had not heard his mother sound so alive since the early days of his novitiate, before his father had fallen into the long illness that would eventually claim his life.

Perhaps Menina was the most improper woman in the western world, but her presence clearly did his mother good.


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer:** Sir Bevier, The Sermons of the Primate Subata and the universe in which they exist belong to David & Leigh Eddings. Arda, Menina, A Compendium of Classical Arcian Literature and the Elenic lexicon are mine. 

**Technical Notes:** The pavane is an actual medieval court dance, according to a medieval dance site I found through Google and to Bertrice Small's Skye O'Malley romance novels. I'm relying on Ms. Small's books for a lot of my descriptions of food and clothing in this fanfic.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to SweetLee, Arabwel, Moonwraith and Liamere for reviewing!

Chapter Five 

Arda remained in excellent health and spirits as the days passed. In fact, she reached a point wherein she actually felt ready to take on court life again.

Menina first heard of this desire to go to court one quiet evening as she sat at the older woman's feet. "Gregor has told me that he is planning to go to court for the summer and autumn seasons," Arda said. "I was thinking that perhaps we could go, too."

"What is court?" Menina asked. She sat very still while the dowager viscountess ran a scented brush through her bath-damp hair. Her mother had done the same for her when she was a little girl.

"Oh, it is the most wonderful place, my dear. It is where the fashions are set, you know — everyone always wears their finest clothes to go to masques or banquets or some other sort of amusement in the King's palace or in one of the noblemen's equally beautiful home. And there is always delicious food, music and dancing until the sun comes up."

"It sounds very tiring."

"It is," Arda admitted, "but it is also very exciting. There is always something happening at court! Would you not like to go? You could meet the King and Queen! Or perhaps we could even find a suitable husband for you! Wouldn't that be lovely?"

Menina's eyes widened. _A husband?_

"A husband?" Bevier asked when his mother made her plans known to him. "Who would have her?" 

Arda frowned at her son. _"Bevier!"_

He flushed. "Menina is very comely, Mother," he amended hastily. "And, er, she isn't all bad, but…isn't she quite a bit past marriageable age?"

Menina nodded. "In my tribe, the girls are married off at thirteen or fourteen, and I am twice that!"

The redheaded young woman missed the surprised look that crossed Bevier's face. Was she _agreeing_ with him? 

"Pah!" the dowager viscountess scoffed. "You are hardly on the shelf, my dear. Look at you! You are in the prime of your life. You still have many childbearing years ahead."

Matching patches of red bloomed in Bevier and Menina's cheeks at the mention of childbearing. "All right, perhaps that's true," Bevier admitted.

"Of course it is true. I know all about a woman's body, Bevier; after all, I have one."

He held up a hand before his mother could delve any more into the workings of a woman's body. "Please, Mother, you are embarrassing Menina and myself."

"Well, it's _true_."

"Yes, yes, Mother; but the fact remains that the men at court are still looking for someone, er, younger."

 Arda tossed her silvery head. "Hmph. Cradle-robbing, that's what it is."

"It is also a fact that the men at court are looking for brides with titles and fortunes," Bevier added gently.

"Perhaps she does not have a title, but she _will_ have a decent dowry, will she not?"

"Mother—"

"Besides what you will settle on her," the viscountess barreled on, "Menina also has a very fine horse to her name. Surely that will account for something." She smiled benignly at her son. "Fear not, Bevier. Even just a baron will do."

"If you want to marry her off to a baron, the Baron Greg—"

_"No!" Menina cried out. She blushed as mother and son turned to look at her. "Please," she said in a more moderate tone of voice, "stop this. I do not want to be wed."_

"Oh, you don't have to be married while we are at court, my dear," Arda assured her. "We are there to meet someone who will offer for you. Once the betrothal has been settled, you may set the wedding date for whenever you wish."

The younger woman shook her head. "No, I…I never want to be wed."

"There, Mother, she said she never wants to be wed!" Bevier declared. When he realized what Menina had said, he turned to her with a puzzled frown. "Why do you not want to be wed?"

She shrugged — uneasily, he thought. "I just don't."

"You are not already married, are you?"

Her green eyes widened. "No, I am not!" she told him hotly. "I have never been wed! And I never want to be!"

The dowager viscountess waved a negligent hand. "Well, I'm sure all that will change when we get to court and you have handsome, available men falling in droves at your feet!"

Bevier stifled a chuckle at the skeptical expression that forced itself onto Menina's face. He decided to jump in and declare the subject closed before his mother could notice it. "Until Menina _does_ change her mind, Mother, we will not discuss it further. Perhaps we should discuss something more important — what are you going to wear?"

Arda's eyes lit up at the prospect of new clothes and she dove wholeheartedly into the new subject. Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Menina sent Bevier a grateful smile. He found himself winking back.

* * *

To Menina's intense relief, Arda spoke no more about finding her a husband and focused entirely on planning her court wardrobe. However, the redheaded woman found new cause for alarm one morning, when she accompanied the dowager viscountess down to the castle storerooms to choose fabrics.

"I will have dark colors," Arda announced, "because I am a widow, but I want beautiful colors nevertheless…like that bolt of sapphire blue silk. Set that aside, Gigette, and the burgundy velvet behind it. Menina will have light colors to set off her skin and extraordinary hair. Do you like this white satin with the thin gold stripes, my dear?"

Menina jumped, her eyes going wide. "What?" the younger woman exclaimed. "_I am to have new clothes, too?"_

"Of course! We can't have you coming to court looking like a poor relation, now, can we?"

"But I do not look like a poor relation!" She ruffled the skirts of her pale blue gown. Like all her other Elene dresses, it was yet another of Arda's hand-me-downs, but it was practically brand new. "I've never had finer clothes in all my life, my Lady. I am perfectly content with your old gowns."

"I'm afraid you cannot wear them to court, Menina," Arda told her. "They are all very well for life in the country, but court is another story altogether."

She reddened and shook her head. "Please, my Lady, you have already given me so much. I am not worthy."

"Oh, my dear, of course you are!" The dowager viscountess took both of Menina's hands in hers. "After all that you have done for us," she added, "new gowns are the _least that you deserve."_

Menina nevertheless continued to protest. Arda waved aside her exclamations and proceeded to select for her a mind-boggling array of fabrics: creams and greens, cloths of gold and silver, a few darker colors for Church services, and velvet in a brilliant topaz for a riding habit. The younger woman finally gave up when she saw that Arda was picking out fabrics for _Bevier's_ wardrobe as well.

Seamstresses were quickly put to work fashioning beaded, embroidered and even bejeweled gowns with low bodices, slashed sleeves and skirts split in front to reveal petticoats as elaborate as the gown itself. "Look at that!" Menina said as she watched a seamstress trace a swirling pattern on a cloth-of-gold petticoat with tiny crystals. "All that work for just one petticoat?"

"A petticoat that will probably be worn only once," the dowager viscountess told her. She held up a finger when the younger woman made to protest. "I know, it sounds terribly wasteful, but that is the way things are done here in Arcium. And do not forget that the village women are being paid handsomely to make clothes for us. To you, this petticoat may be mere frippery, but to Mala here, it is her family being able to eat for a month."

For Bevier, there were doublets with sleeves that were full to the elbow before cleaving closely to the line of the arm, shirts with embroidered collars and short, tight breeches. "Are these breeches _supposed_ to look like this, Mother?" Bevier asked as he eyed himself critically in the looking glass that had been set up in the seamstresses' workroom. His new breeches were a far sight better than the ridiculously baggy ones that had been in fashion several years ago; but they were definitely short, ending a few inches above the knee, and were embarrassingly tight in his estimation.

"Yes, Bevier," his mother replied, "that is what is in fashion right now, according to Gregor's sources. Now stop complaining and let Britte make some adjustments." She clapped her hands delightedly as the plump, gray-haired seamstress almost stuck him with a pin. "My, don't you look fine! I fear I will have as many offers for _your hand as I will for Menina's!"_

He looked heavenwards as the dowager viscountess laughed at her own joke. As he lowered his head again, Bevier noticed Menina fidgeting nervously by his mother's side, her bright head bowed. She looked like she was exerting every effort to keep from looking at him.

He realized with an inward smile that she was probably more accustomed to voluminous Rendorish clothing and the more modest Elene garb that was worn in the country. _What did she think of her new clothes?_ The tight sleeves and low bodices of her new gowns were no doubt shocking her.

_More importantly, what did she look like in her new clothes?_

* * *

Menina soon found out that the preparations for court included more than just new gowns and slippers. "What you have inside is even more important than what you show outside," Arda told her at the start of what the young woman came to call "lady-lessons." 

She was taught how to curtsy, a very low bow that involved much dramatic sweeping of skirts. It was especially for ladies, which was probably all for the best because at least ladies had skirts to pad their bottoms in case they would fall. Had it not been for the balance, grace and strong leg muscles she had developed from years of horseback riding, Menina was certain she would have needed that padding many times over.

There were also lessons on how to conduct oneself properly at table and in the arts of needlework, weaving and music. Table manners were easy enough to master and her sewing, though not fine, was passable; but Menina declared herself hopeless at music. She appreciated a pretty melody as much as the next person, but when it came time to try and play a tune on her own, she was unable to tell one note from another. 

She was also taught how to speak with others. The lessons included memorizing long lists of topics she was forbidden to discuss in polite company and hours of practicing a polite, interested expression. At the end of each session, her head was reeling and her face and neck achy.

However, one good thing came out of the lessons in conversation: because Menina needed to be knowledgeable and witty in order to be thought fascinating, she had to open her mind to learning. And in order to do so, she learned to read.

Bevier taught her how to read in the span of one week. Once she had learned to match the sounds of the Elenic alphabet to the individual characters as they were written on the page, there was no stopping her. 

Reading soon became part of her daily routine. After exercising Afreet in the mornings, she had lady-lessons with the dowager viscountess, followed by their customary outdoors lunch, afternoon services, an hour or two more of lady-lessons, and then she would run off to the library until dinnertime. 

Bevier grew accustomed to seeing her there. "What are you reading today?" he asked as he entered the room one sunny afternoon.

Menina, curled up in a chair by the window, glanced at the title of her book before answering. "_A Com-pen-di-um of Class-i-cal Arcian Lit-er-a-ture," she read aloud slowly. "Was that correct?"_

He smiled. "Yes, you read it perfectly. That was not the book you were reading yesterday, however," he noted. "Have you finished _The Sermons of the Primate Subata?"_

She wrinkled her nose. "No, I have not," she admitted. "It was boring, so I stopped reading it."

"You should finish it. It is a most instructional work."

"But I do not like it. I would much rather read the stories in this book." Menina tapped the cover of the _Compendium and turned to his copy of the Elenic lexicon, which lay open on a small table at her elbow. _

Bevier sighed. At least she had quickly progressed past the romantic novels his mother had lent her and was now raiding the more intellectually stimulating contents of his library. Menina and the lexicon had, in fact, usurped his desk for three days before the small table had been brought in.

"You are enjoying your reading?" he asked after she had finished looking through the lexicon.

"Oh, yes," Menina replied with a smile. "In my tribe, only the men are taught how to read. They are required to learn because they negotiate on behalf of the Maranatoi when we sell our horses. We women, although we can handle, train and even own the horses, are never taught how."

"Lilear should have taught you."

Her expression clouded. "Stepfather never really brought it up," she said quietly. They were silent for a moment before she dredged up her smile again. "Well, the point is that I finally learned to read, is it not?"

* * *

Besides teaching her how to read, Bevier was also prevailed upon to help Menina learn how to dance. In the evenings, after dinner, he, his mother and a small audience of castle servants would gather in the hall and the young woman was put through her paces.

"One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four…" Arda called. 

As the dowager viscountess (and quite a few of the onlookers) clapped out the rhythm, her son and his partner began to move toward each other in a slow and stately pavane. 

A chambermaid giggled as Bevier danced by. He ignored her, concentrating instead on executing the steps. He was not an accomplished dancer, but knew the basics at the very least. Noblemen were expected to know how to perform respectably on the dance floor.

Across from him, Menina's head was lowered, her eyes on the floor. She had learned the pavane just the previous night and was nervous about executing the still-unfamiliar steps. 

"That's right, Menina, move _gracefully and _grandly_," Arda instructed. "But, my dear, stop looking at your feet. You must look up at your partner! _Good!_" the dowager viscountess praised as the young woman looked up with a small, shy smile. _

Bevier smiled back and gave her an encouraging nod. Menina was doing very well, he observed. She was naturally coordinated, graceful and a quick learner besides. She had the steps down pat. All she needed was confidence.

They met in the center of the floor and began to dance around each other, dipping and swirling to the beat of his mother's handclaps.

"Look up at your partner, Menina!" Arda reminded her.

A flush spread over her dusky cheek and Menina did as she was told. Her eyes were like jewels, Bevier thought as he took her hand and they began to move in a slow circle. And he saw that, unlike the other redheaded people that he knew, she had no freckles, just flawless golden skin.

Presently, the dance ended and Bevier bowed to Menina, who curtsied low in return. She was wearing another of his mother's old gowns; only, he thought, his mother did not fill it out half as well as Menina did…

He stiffened and jerked his eyes skyward. _Stop thinking such things!_


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: **David and Leigh Eddings own Sir Bevier and the country of Arcium. I own the details. 

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to Lady Cinnibar, The Verve, SweetLee, MoonWraith and Kelana for reviewing!

Chapter Six 

Once their court wardrobes were complete, Bevier and his family, traveling alongside Gregor and his own small entourage, set out for King Dregos' summer residence in the lovely seaside town of Ucera. 

Bevier's party was making the trip in a large, well-sprung carriage upholstered comfortably in black velvet and boasting the family crest (a rampant bull surmounted by three strawberry leaves indicating the status of a viscount) worked in silver on the doors. Two maids to see to Arda's and Menina's needs and an excited young manservant to serve as the knight's valet made up the rest of the party. Nimbus, Bevier's gray war-horse, and Afreet were hitched to the back of the carriage, attended by Boniface and his most capable assistant, who were also acting as outriders. 

The knight pondered the addition of Afreet to the traveling party with some trepidation. Menina had insisted on taking the black stallion with her. Unfortunately, Bevier thought, no one had thought to train him on how to behave properly at court.

Just then, Boniface guided his horse up to the window. "Milord, the Baron Gregor says he is about to stop for his midday meal," the head groom said. "He bids you and the ladies to join him."

The knight realized that it was almost noon. The women were no doubt getting hungry and would welcome the chance to stretch their legs. "Tell him we would be glad to."

Boniface nodded and went to relay Bevier's reply, then returned to say that Gregor was planning to stop after about ten more minutes. The baron knew of a good spot along the road where they could have their lunch.

"Oh, how lovely," Arda said as she alit from the carriage after the promised ten minutes. "Gregor, how clever of you to remember this spot!"

The baron had taken them to a stand of old, close-growing trees. In the shade cast by their widespread branches there were mossy rocks to sit on, plenty of grass for the horses, and even a small pool of clear water for drinking and washing.

Gregor smiled as he draped his cloak on the largest rock for the dowager viscountess to sit on. "I travel this way often," he said, "so I am quite familiar with the area. This place is one of my favorite discoveries and I always have my noon meal here. Shall we dine?"

The food packed for the journey was simple, but both parties pooled their provisions and together feasted on both roast chicken and beef, accompanied by plenty of bread, cheese, wine, and fruit. Afterward, as most of the travelers drowsed in the shade, Menina took a couple of the leftover apples to the horses. 

She watched Afreet snap up the treat and rubbed his velvety nose fondly. "Are you tired?" she asked in Rendorish, and laughed when the stallion snorted. "Well, forgive me, my Lord, but I was afraid that living in Catalum had softened you up."

Afreet managed to look offended.

"You are not tired?" Menina asked again, stroking his inky mane. The horse snorted again and began walking, as if to show his mistress that he was still very much capable of movement. "You are certain?" she asked as she walked by his side.

Afreet whinnied and began to trot. Menina broke into a jog to keep up with him, then swung up onto his back when the stallion finally broke into a gallop. 

She laughed delightedly as Afreet flew over the grass, leaping nimbly over rocks and fallen logs, graceful as a great black bird. After an entire morning of being cooped up in that carriage, traveling through a country that seemed to be made up of nothing but walls, the freedom of riding was pure heaven.

Menina turned her face up to the sunshine, reliving her journey to Catalum. She and Afreet had left the Maranatoi and was on her own for the first time in her life. She remembered galloping through the barren plains, dotted here and there with piles of bleached skulls from long-ago battles, and sleeping beneath the stars. She remembered buying sweet dried apricots from a street vendor in Dabour and taking her first boat ride down the Gule River. She remembered the wide blue expanse of the Arcian Straits, sparkling in the sunlight, and her first glimpse of alien shores.

She had felt as if the entire world had cracked open and lay before her, ready for the taking.

Freedom.

_"Menina!" Bevier's voice cut through her reverie._

At the sound of her name, her horse slowed to a trot, then to a walk. Afreet seemed to understand that their fun was over. Menina sighed philosophically and reached down to pat her mount's glossy neck. "Well," she murmured, "it was fun while it lasted."

The knight watched the black stallion, his face and bearing rigid, as Afreet came to a stop before him. "You called, my Lord?" she asked mildly before dismounting.

"Would you care to explain that little display you just put on?"

"It was no display. Afreet and I just wanted to go for a ride."

Bevier found himself scowling, but with great effort managed to tamp down his temper. "And why is that?"

Menina blushed. "Well, ah, I was feeling rather restless after spending the entire morning in the carriage," she admitted, wringing her hands, "and Afreet was very accommodating, so we, ah, just went." In hindsight, the reason behind her impulsive ride seemed very stupid.

"Come now, Bevier, the poor girl just wanted to stretch her legs a bit," Arda piped up. "This was probably Menina's first time to ride in a carriage — isn't it, my dear? Perhaps she can ride Afreet this afternoon so that she will not feel so restless."

The younger woman nodded enthusiastically. "There will be more space in the carriage," she said. "The viscountess will be more comfortable that way."

"If it is space you need, there is plenty of room in my carriage," Gregor suggested.

Bevier groaned inwardly. "That will not be necessary, my Lord," he told the baron, "but thank you." He turned to Menina, whose face had lit up at the offer. She had been, no doubt, about to suggest that Bevier's mother transfer to Gregor's carriage. "Menina, you may ride Afreet this afternoon if that is what you want. All I ask," he said, "is that the next time you wish to go on a little ride, you will tell me or one of the grooms first."

"I will take care to do that next time," Menina said and smiled, relieved that he had not scolded her. 

"Good." He managed a tight smile in reply and excused himself to do say his afternoon prayers.

Arda caught her son's hand as he walked past. "I am very pleased, my son," she said in a low voice, "that you and Menina are getting along so well." She beamed and drew him down to press a kiss to his cheek. "You always were a sweet boy."

* * *

They reached Ucera after three days of traveling in easy stages, stopping often and staying at inns in deference to the Arda's health.

"Oh, how lovely," Menina murmured when she caught her first glimpse of the city.

"Unlike the port city of Coombe, Ucera is primarily a tourist destination," Bevier told her. "As a result, it is cleaner and more tranquil than its twin further down the Arcian coast."

She nodded her understanding and turned back to the carriage window, her eyes drinking in the sights of the white stone buildings, verdant public gardens that sped past as the carriage rolled down the wide, bustling street. "Will we be staying here?" Menina asked as they passed a marketplace crammed with people and products from all over the world.

"Certainly not, my dear," Arda replied. "Gregor has a house here in town, but we will be staying at the palace, right up there." The viscountess pointed to a high wall set on a hill overlooking the city proper. The tops of the tallest towers and spires were just visible right over the wall. "It is a most beautiful place, with the loveliest view of the ocean. You'll see."

"But before we go there," Bevier said, "we will be visiting the Cyrinic chapterhouse here in town. The Cyrinic Order—"

"—is the group of Church Knights based here in Arcium," Menina finished for him.

He smiled, deciding to ignore her unladylike interruption in favor of her correct recollection of Elene history, and nodded. "Very good."

Bevier disembarked from the carriage some time later and rode the rest of the way on horseback. He led his party to an imposing building practically hidden from view by the usual high, stout walls and bounded by a narrow yet deep moat, inhabited by carnivorous fish first brought there a century ago by a former governor with a penchant for exotic pets. (The fish presently lived on a diet of raw meat from the chapterhouse kitchens, as well as the occasional corpse, courtesy of the city's criminal elements.)

The moat was traversed via a heavy, ironbound drawbridge, which was lowered at the moment. Four mounted Cyrinics, their silvery armor glinting in the sunlight, guarded the entrance on the other end. 

Bevier signaled for the carriage to stop and rode forward alone, stopping at the far end of the drawbridge. Two of the mounted knights urged their horses forward to meet him. "Peace be with thee, pilgrim," the older knight greeted him formally.

"And peace be with thee, my brothers," he replied in an equally formal voice. "I am Bevier, Knight of this Order. My companions and I entreat entry into this House of the Soldiers of God."

"How shall we know thee?" the younger knight asked.

"By this shall thou know me," Bevier said, raising his chin to show off his distinctive silver cloak-clasp. Every Cyrinic Knight was given one after completing his novitiate. The clasps were inconspicuous and at the same time practical, as they could be used whether or not their wearers were in armor.

The two knights inspected the clasp, searching for the deliberate long, deep scratch in the back that marked it as genuine. "Thou art indeed Sir Bevier of our Order," the younger knight finally pronounced. "Thou art granted entry into this House of the Soldiers of God."

"May thou find solace within its walls," the older knight added.

"I thank thee, my brothers," Bevier said, completing the Cyrinics' ritual greeting and security inspection. He then smiled warmly at the two knights. "Orlan. Hademus. It's good to see you."

"Likewise," replied Sir Orlan, the older knight. He and Bevier had been novices together, although the black-bearded Orlan won his spurs a couple of years before Bevier did. "You traveled with fast company these past few years. With all the outrageous stories that reached us…"

"Oh, those were just stories," Bevier said with a modest wave of his hand.

"So you didn't journey to Zemoch to do battle with Otha and Azash?" Sir Hademus asked.

"Ah, we did go to Zemoch," he told the younger knight, "but I didn't directly do battle with Azash. The Pandion Knight Sparhawk did."

Presently, there was a loud whinny. "I'm afraid I shall have to save the stories for later, my brothers," Bevier chuckled. "Someone is getting impatient."

"By all means," Orlan said, urging his mount to one side of the drawbridge, "come in."

Afreet snorted loudly as if to say "Finally!" when the carriage began to move. 

Bevier led his party into a spacious, paved courtyard. There, the men dismounted and the ladies were helped out of the carriage. Menina instructed her horse to behave himself before following Bevier and his mother inside the castle.

Once inside, a novice led them into a small side room, where the women were requested to don voluminous black robes. "Women must wear these robes while they are in Cyrinic premises," Arda explained as she handed one to Menina. "They cover you from throat to ankle. It is to protect your modesty and keep the knights from temptation." 

"Will we be asked to cover our faces as well?" the younger woman asked.

Bevier chuckled. He and the rest of the menfolk were all standing in one corner, backs turned discreetly even though the women would be putting on the shapeless garments right over their clothes. "No, Menina, veils are not required."

"We will suffocate in this heat if we had to wear them," his mother said. "I don't know how Rendorish women can stand it."

"The veils are made of light fabric, like this cotton that the robe is made of," Menina told her, "so that they will be easy to breathe through. Maranatoi women are not required to wear veils, but everyone in the tribe wears them for traveling, especially in dust-storm season."

"Well, I think this robe is more than enough," Arda replied. "You can just imagine how peeved I was when I had to wear one over my lovely new gown at Bevier's investiture!"

Once the women were presentable, the servants were sent to the kitchens to take refreshments while Arda and Menina followed Bevier back into the main castle hall. 

Three men were standing in the vast chamber when they entered: Sir Lepore, Governor of the Ucera chapterhouse; Lord Absadar, the new Preceptor of the Cyrinic Order; and the Patriarch Emban, the ranking churchman in Ucera. 

"Welcome, brother!" Lepore hailed him with a warm smile and a hand extended in welcome. He was a handsome man about the same age and height as Bevier, but lighter in coloring and somewhat stockier in build. 

Bevier clasped the offered hand. "Lepore. It's been a long time." He then bowed formally to Adsadar and Emban. "My Lord Preceptor. Your Eminence." 

Adsadar, a lean man in his mid-forties, replied with an equally formal bow while Emban beamed and waved off Bevier's attempts to kiss his ring of office with a plump hand. "There is no need for that," the rotund little churchman said affably. "Now, what brings you to Ucera?"

"It is court season, Your Eminence," Bevier replied with a small smile. "My mother wished to go. Incidentally, may I present my mother, the Dowager Viscountess Arda, and my, er, ward, Mistress Menina…?"

"I was wondering when you would get around to it," Lepore quipped as he let Absadar and Emban go first in exchanging courtesies with the ladies.

"Behave yourself," Bevier murmured back when he saw that his brother knight was eyeing Menina with interest. Lepore had been quite the ladies' man during their novitiate, and it was apparent that he was still willing to flirt with anything in a skirt. 

"Don't I always?" was the flippant reply.

Bevier watched Lepore bend over Arda's hand first. "Welcome to the chapterhouse, my Lady. You look just as I remember you."

The dowager viscountess laughed. "It's been almost twenty years since I saw you last, Lepore."

"And the years have not touched you one whit," the knight replied promptly. 

She laughed again and patted his cheek fondly. "You always were a terrible flirt, Lepore. Watch out for this one, Menina."

"Now, that is foul play, my Lady. Let her make up her own mind." Lepore moved on to greet Menina with his most charming grin. The time he spent bent over her hand was just a shade short of improper. "Good day to you, Mistress Menina. I am Sir Lepore, Governor of this chapterhouse."

"Pleased to meet you, my Lord," the redheaded woman replied, bobbing a curtsy.

"The pleasure, divinity, is all mine."

Bevier froze at the silky undertone that entered his brother knight's voice and shot an alarmed look at his mother. Lepore was not about to try anything improper in the presence of his preceptor and a Patriarch of the Church, among others, but Menina did not know how to_…_well,_ how to flirt. And she had to learn before some noxious court swain turned her head and she found herself seduced, abandoned, with child, or otherwise ruined…_

Menina laughed and pulled her hand out of Lepore's. "I don't believe anyone's ever called me a divinity before, my Lord," she said. "Is that acceptable? Because I was raised to believe that only God is divine."

"Well, your beauty comes from God, does it not?" Lepore replied. "Hence you, too, are divine."

Bevier stifled a groan. Menina was no match for his brother knight's silver tongue.

"No, my Lord, I am a much lesser being than God, so I am not fit to be called divine." The redheaded woman favored Lepore with a sunny smile. "But I will settle for being called beautiful."

The rejoinder caused everyone, even the taciturn Absadar, to laugh. "I think she will get on marvelously at court," Emban chortled, then put his hands to his paunch. "Now, shall we have refreshments?"

There were agreements all around and Absadar turned to Arda. "If you would do me the honor or accompanying you upstairs, my Lady…?" he asked in his low, resonant voice.

Bevier smiled as his mother accepted the arm offered her. He had always greatly admired Lord Absadar, not only for his skill on the field, but also for his love of learning and exquisite manners. Absadar was a soldier and a gentleman. The Church had made the right choice when they selected him to replace Lord Abriel, God rest his brave soul.

Just then, Lepore swept by with Menina on his arm. "I think I shall have to spend a lot of time at court this season," he murmured to Bevier as he passed. "To help keep peace and order, you know…"

It was all Bevier could do to keep from giving him a smart rap on the back of the head.

* * *

As many of the courtiers would be coming from outside Ucera, accommodations at the palace were bound to be full; but thanks to Lepore's administrative connections, Bevier and his party were given a spacious suite with a view of the ocean. "It is close enough to the hall so that we will find it easily but not have to suffer all the noise," Arda noted approvingly as the menservants brought in their baggage. "It is also near enough to the castle kitchens so that we may order food or bath water without it growing cold on the way. This is a prime spot, my son."

"Nothing but the best for you, Mother," Bevier replied grandly.

She laughed and gave him a fond kiss on the cheek. "You are so good to me."

Just then, a very familiar figure entered the sitting room. He was dragging the largest of the trunks but was whistling a merry tune as if his burden did not trouble him the slightest bit. 

The warmth Bevier felt at his mother's praise faded quickly as he recognized Romalic, and a chill washed over him when Menina greeted the Styric god with an exclamation of delight. "Oh, Goodman, you are here!" she said, her eyes alight with happiness. 

_Oh, God, the knight thought. _She knew him.__

"I did not know you were going to be here with us," the redheaded young woman was saying as Bevier walked over to them. "I did not see you among the traveling party!"

"I just caught up with you, my Lady," Romalic replied cheerfully. "Lord Bevier instructed me to bring up the rear and make sure that there were no bandits trailing after you."

Menina beamed at Bevier. "That was a very good idea," she told him as the burly god took his leave along with the other menservants. 

The knight smiled back uneasily. "Thank you."

"I really like that man. He is very nice. And he is clearly very strong, too."

"You, er, seem to know him quite well," Bevier ventured. 

"Oh, not really. I have seen him around the estate a few times, and we say hello to each other, but we do not talk for long. I know he has work to do and do not want to keep him from it."

"So you must, er, be fairly close."

Menina's eyes widened and she flushed. "No, not really," she admitted, to the knight's great relief. "I have spoken to the man quite a few times now and yet I do not even know his name. How embarrassing. Do you know it?"

"Ah, yes, I believe I do." Bevier racked his brain for an answer. "His name…his name is…uh…Rom."

A deep chuckled resounded in the knight's mind. _Very creative,_ Romalic observed.

_Be nice, Bevier thought back. Reassured that Menina knew nothing of Romalic's identity or plans for her, he gave the young woman a more relaxed smile. "Well, here we are, all settled in. Why don't you and Mother have a look at your room?"_

"We had better order baths and have a bit of a rest while we're at it," Arda said. "We must be ready to present ourselves to King Dregos and Queen Linde this evening." She, too, squeezed Menina's hand. "Isn't that exciting, dear? Did you ever imagine that you would be called into the presence of a King?"

"Never, my Lady," she replied with a wry little smile. "Six months ago, I was shoveling horse manure in the desertand worrying whether we had enough water. Now, I am at court. I have come a long way."

* * *

_I have come a long way indeed. _

Menina surveyed herself in the mirror hanging in the room she shared with the dowager viscountess. At first glance, the freshly bathed and perfumed young woman staring back at her was a stranger. Her body, in a white satin gown with silver brocade underskirt and close-fitting sleeves slashed to show puffs of the same silver material, looked like it had never known sweat or dirt. Her feet, sheathed in dainty silk stockings and pearl-trimmed shoes, looked as though they had never tramped through mud and horse manure. Her hands, accented by precious rings and cuffs of silver lace, did not look as if they had ever touched a shovel or currycomb. And her hair, piled high on her head and dressed with white roses, did not look as if it had ever been snarled into a thousand tangles by mischievous desert winds.

But she carried all of those memories inside her, and when she looked at herself more closely, Menina could see traces of her mother (_God rest her sweet soul_) in her features. And the rigors of her past life were ingrained into her very bones. "I am in a new world," she murmured, giving her skirts a final swish, "but I am still Menina of the Maranatoi."

Arda gave an exclamation of delight when Menina stepped out into their sitting room, where the older woman waited with her son and the baron Gregor. "Menina, my dear, you look marvelous!" For their first evening at court, the dowager viscountess was resplendent in a gown of deep burgundy trimmed with rose-colored ribbons. "Does she not look beautiful?" she asked the men.

"She does indeed," Gregor agreed heartily.

The younger woman blushed at the compliment. "Thank you."

Bevier, standing at Arda's side dressed all in black except for his silver- and pearl-trimmed white velvet doublet, smiled and inclined his head. "Very beautiful," he said, then grinned. "But I must admit she is not as beautiful as you, Mother."

The dowager viscountess giggled girlishly and smacked him lightly on the arm. "Oh, you!" she said, her eyes sparkling like the diamonds at her throat and ears. 

Her son chuckled and offered his mother the arm she had just smacked. "Shall we go?"

The palace's great hall — the center of Arcian court life that season — was a riot of color and noise. Everything in it demanded to be paid the proper attention. Brightly colored banners and tapestries fought to draw the eye from the rich raiment parading about the vast chamber. Music vied with laughter and humorous stories for the listener's ear. And the people themselves competed with each other to draw the most attention and curry the most favor from the most important figures at court.

Arda's excitement suddenly dissipated when they entered the hall. "Oh, no," she breathed, sounding dismayed. "This is terrible!"

"Why?" Gregor asked, alarmed. "Whatever is the matter?" 

"Will you look at what everyone is wearing? Bright colors are in fashion this season! I picked all the wrong colors for Bevier and Menina!"

Bevier's shoulders sagged in relief. "I do not mind in the least, Mother," he assured her, trading amused glances with the baron over his mother's head. "Church Knights are supposed to be above such vanity, anyway."

"What about Menina?"

The men glanced over their shoulders at the redheaded young woman. Instead of casting nervous, covert glances about her or gawking like a country bumpkin, Menina was strolling along behind them, happily taking in all the sights and sounds. She did not appear to care in the least that she was garbed in white and not in bold colors like everyone else. "I don't think she minds either," Gregor observed.

"Perhaps not now, but what about later?" Arda fretted.

Bevier sighed and patted her hand. "Do not worry about that until you have to, Mother. For now, why don't you just enjoy your first night back at court? Look, isn't that Lady Sabetta over there?"

At the mention of her girlhood rival, the dowager viscountess straightened. "Sabetta is here? Oh, my, she is!" she said when she caught sight of the lady in question. "Goodness, Bevier, look at her — she has become positively _blowzy! And that shade of purple is __most unflattering!" Arda chortled with glee. "Are you not glad that she did not become your mother?"_

"Very glad," he agreed dutifully, saying a mental prayer asking forgiveness for his mother's vanity. 

Just then, Bevier saw her: dark-haired and dainty, pale skin like cream against the rich red of her gown. She had been the flower of the court, the most sought-after among the Queen's maidens when he had been a student, now grown into an exquisite jewel of a woman.

His mother saw her, too. "Now _that_ is a fashionable gown," she remarked. "What was that girl's name again?"

"Maraline," Bevier replied, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. 

"Ah, yes, that's right. I knew her name was something lovely. She used to be one of the Queen's maids of honor, if I recall correctly."

He made no reply, so engrossed was he in watching her as she meandered through the hall. He watched Maraline greet someone with a smile that was like a ray of sunshine. She was so beautiful.

The skies seemed to open up and a heavenly chorus seemed to play when she turned her limpid gaze in his direction. Bevier managed a shaky smile as her face lit up in recognition and she walked over to him. 

By some miracle, he remembered to bow politely when she approached. "My Lady."

Maraline smiled. "My Lord," she replied in her musical, still-girlish voice. "It has been a long time."

"Indeed it has. You are looking very well."

A fetching blush stole over her porcelain cheek. "As are you. It must be the exciting life you lead. I hear you have had quite a few adventures over these past several years."

He chuckled modestly. "Yes, I was fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to serve God and Arcium in a number of…fairly unconventional ways."

"I'm sure they were more 'fantastic' than 'fairly unconventional,'" Maraline said. "You must tell me about your adventures some time."

His face was so warm he was sure it would burst into flame at any minute. "It would be a pleasure."

"Splendid." Her pink lips curved into a smile. "We have so much to catch up on."

The bachelor in him recoiled at the disturbing glitter in her eyes. She looked like an old maid desperate to get married. Bevier then recalled with dismay that Maraline was actually already married — her parents had wed her to a wealthy marquis old enough to be her grandfather shortly before he finished at university. "Ah…speaking of catching up…how is your husband? Is he here?"

"Oh, gracious, no!" Her laughter pealed merrily about them. "Doromas prefers the country life. The excitement of court is a bit too much for him now. But he is such a dear; he lets me go to court without him. Isn't that lovely?"

"Lovely," he echoed.

Bevier started when he heard two loud raps that resounded throughout the hall. _"ALL HAIL HIS ROYAL MAJESTY KING DREGOS!" a stentorian voice cried. _"HER ROYAL HIGHNESS QUEEN LINDE AND HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE AVENTOR!"__

A hush fell over the hall and people at the far end of the chamber began to sink in bows and curtsies. "The King and Queen have arrived," Maraline whispered. "I must go join the other ladies-in-waiting." She smiled up at Bevier and touched his arm gently. "It was wonderful talking to you, Bevier. I hope our paths will cross often while we are both here at court."

"So do I," he breathed earnestly. She bestowed one final smile upon him before hurrying off to join a group of ladies clustered near the foot of the dais that stood on the other end of the hall. 

Everyone made their obeisance as the Arcian King strode regally by with the Queen, the Crown Prince and a cadre of bodyguards. Although the bodyguards wore chain mail instead of armor and were armed only with their swords in deference to the festive occasion, Bevier recognized them to be Cyrinic Knights. 

The Cyrinics stood protectively around the foot of the dais as King Dregos, a dark-haired man about the same age as the Cyrinic Preceptor, led his blonde Queen onto the platform. He seated her upon one of the ornately bejeweled golden thrones before taking the other for himself. Prince Aventor stationed himself on the Queen's other side. 

The ladies-in-waiting remained standing by the foot of the dais, but the Queen's maids of honor took places at her feet. The older maidens cast coquettish glances at the handsome blond prince, but he paid them no heed.

"Hasn't that boy taken a wife yet?" Bevier heard his mother ask.

"No, not yet," Gregor told her, "but I hear they are considering a match with a Deiran princess."

"Which Deiran princess? There must be an endless supply of princesses in Deira."

"Well, at least all the royal families in Eosia know where to look for a wife."

Presently, one of the knights inclined his head to Bevier, indicating that he be the first to greet the King. Bevier nodded back and held out his arm to his mother. "Come, Mother. It's time."

She nodded and took his arm, all ready to go; then realized that someone was missing. "Where is Menina?" she asked, taking a quick look around. "Menina! Where are you?"

"Here I am, my Lady," the younger woman replied as she came up behind them. 

"Where were you, my dear?"

"I was not far away." Menina smiled and gestured to the very familiar young man at her side. "But I was talking to Sir Lepore and did not hear you calling."

"The poor girl was looking lost and lonely, my Lady," Lepore explained. "I only sought to keep her company until she was needed."

Bevier narrowed his eyes at him, but the other knight only grinned impudently back. "Come, Menina," Bevier finally said. "The King awaits."

He heard his mother take a few deep, calming breaths as he escorted her past the bodyguards_ and toward where King Dregos and his family were seated. Absadar, standing nearest the King's throne, made the introduction. "Your Majesty," the Cyrinic Preceptor said, "I present to you Sir Bevier, Champion of our Order; his mother, the Dowager Viscountess Arda; and his ward, Mistress Menina."_

Menina, who was bringing up the rear, watched Bevier bow formally. "Your Majesty," she heard him say.

"Sir Bevier," King Dregos replied with a polite nod. "We are pleased to have you here at court. You have brought much honor to God and to Arcium."

"I live but to serve, Your Majesty." The knight then gestured toward his mother. "And now, Your Majesty, I present to you my mother, the Dowager Viscountess Arda."

His mother sank into a graceful curtsy, her dark skirts billowing about her. "Your Majesty."

The king favored her with a smile. "My Lady. We are glad you have returned. Many sought to take your place here at court, but none could ever equal your beauty and your grace."

"Your Majesty is too kind," Arda replied with a girlish giggle.

"Certainly not. I speak the truth; do I not, Linde?"

"My husband speaks the truth, my Lady," the queen agreed in Thalesian-accented Elenic. "He said you were the most beautiful woman at court when he was a lad."

"And if you were not here, my dear," King Dregos said, "she would still be the most beautiful woman at court."

Menina smiled at all the compliments being heaped upon the dowager viscountess. It was true; Arda was certainly the best-looking woman among those her age in the room and could even put quite a few of the younger ones to shame.

"And speaking of beautiful women, my Lord," Prince Aventor broke in, "is that your ward standing behind you?"

"Ah, indeed it is, Your Highness," Bevier replied, somewhat surprised that Menina had somehow caught the prince's attention. He supposed it must have been her height and all that red hair. "Your Majesty, Your Highnesses, I now present my ward, Mistress Menina…?"

The redheaded young woman came forward with a smile on her face and at a slow and stately pace, just as she had been taught. As Arda looked on nervously, Menina spread her skirts and sank gracefully into a deep curtsy, her face all but disappearing into her lap. She held the position for exactly three beats, and then rose from the low, dramatic bow. "Your Majesty."

The king smiled at her. "I have not seen a curtsy such as that in years."

Menina smiled back and inclined her bright head in the dowager viscountess' direction. "I was trained by the best, Your Majesty."

"I can see that you were," King Dregos laughed. "Welcome to court, Mistress Menina."

"My dear," Arda murmured, squeezing Bevier's hand, "I think we've done it."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** Bevier and Arcium belong to David & Leigh Eddings. I only own the details. 

**Author's Notes: Sorry it took me so long to update; this chapter gave me a lot of trouble! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy. I swear I'm working on the very next one, only I've got a gazillion other projects also demanding my attention! Thanks to Kool Person, Joshua5, macgyver70, Chad-Pendragon (nice to hear from you again!) and all the repeat reviwers!**

Chapter Seven 

Gregor and Lepore rejoined Bevier and his family after they excused themselves from the royal presence. "I see things went well," the baron remarked.

"Things went _marvelously_," Arda said happily. "The King said he remembered me."

"Why would he not remember you, my Lady?" Lepore asked. "You are unforgettable."

"And you are very sweet, dear boy," she replied with a gay laugh.

Bevier appreciated his friend's gallantry but was also concerned that the apparently successful return to court would overexcite his mother. "Ah, Mother, perhaps you would like to sit down or have a little refreshment?"

"It _is_ getting rather warm in here," Arda admitted, withdrawing a lacy handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing delicately at her face.

Bevier stiffened and Menina reached for the dowager viscountess's arm, but Gregor was already at her side. "I can look after her," the baron told them. "You young people should enjoy your evening."

"I am feeling perfectly fine," Arda assured him, "just a tad over-warm."

"Are you certain?" Bevier asked. "We can return to our rooms now if you are not feeling well." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bright red head bob in agreement. Menina clearly feared, as he did, that his mother would have one of her spells.

"Yes, I am certain. Gregor and I shall find a nice place to sit down and have a bit of a rest; you go and enjoy your first night back at court. In fact, Bevier, why don't you take Menina around and introduce her to your friends?"

"Oh, but—" Menina began to protest, but Lepore cut her off.

"A capital idea, my Lady!" he pronounced. "You and the baron are wonderful, of course, but Menina must meet some nice people closer to her in age."

"She must meet some _eligible men, who may or may not be closer to her in age," the dowager viscountess corrected him with a mischievous smile, causing the redheaded young woman to blush to the roots of her hair. _

This time, it was Lepore's turn to protest. "But, my Lady, Bevier and I were planning to introduce her only to women, married men and certified bachelors over the age of sixty!"

The look of horror that crossed Arda's face sent Bevier's elbow into the other knight's ribs. "Lepore is only joking, Mother," he assured her quickly. The last thing her heart needed was another unpleasant jolt such as that. "You know how he is."

"Humorous to a fault," the brown-haired Cyrinic said, massaging the sore spot. "My apologies, my Lady, I did not mean to distress you. Indeed, I was only joking. Now, are you ready, divinity?" Without bothering to wait for an answer, he took Menina's arm. Bevier noted that Lepore neither offered nor was asked to do so. "Let us go, then! Come along, Bevier!"

Bevier took leave of his mother and the baron. "You could have waited for me," he grumbled as he caught up with his ward-of-sorts and brother knight.

"I was only hastening to obey the Lady Arda's wishes," Lepore replied blithely, then confided, "actually, I had to get out of there after scaring your mother like that. I'm not an idiot, Bevier."

"You aren't?" he asked, feeling a small surge of triumph when Menina laughed. He supposed he had picked up more from traveling with the Church Knights than he thought.

The other knight flushed and gave him a sidelong glare. "I'm not. I know I tend to say stupid things at the worst times and it hurts people I care about, and I really do care about your mother."

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but there is a rather large age difference between the two of you."

The witty remark was rewarded with another laugh from Menina and a glower from Lepore. "You know what I mean, Bevier," he said. "Your mother was always very nice to me."

"What a sweet thing to say, my Lord," Menina remarked.

Heartened by the small compliment, Lepore regained his customary good cheer. "And that was a sweet thing to say to me, divinity," he replied, patting her hand as he towed her along. "Come along. I shall introduce you to the most important people at court. Many of them are very close personal friends of mine."

As his brother knight boasted on about his many connections and their high standings at court, Bevier noticed that Menina was becoming increasingly nervous. She was apparently realizing that it was now time to apply all the lessons his mother had taught her over the past several weeks. Thankfully this nervousness had not hit her while she was meeting the King.

The black-haired Cyrinic touched the young woman's arm to get her attention. "Do not worry," he murmured to her. "I will help you."

She turned to him, her green eyes just slightly wild. "Do you promise?" Menina asked, sounding like a child afraid to sleep in the dark. 

"You have my word on it," Bevier assured her. Lepore, still bragging, did not notice that his audience was no longer listening to him.

"I do not want to say or do anything that will embarrass the family."

He gave her a small smile. "As I said, I will help you."

Her own mouth curved slowly into an answering smile. "Thank you, Bevier."

Menina was understandably shy at first, but relaxed when she grew more accustomed to the art of making acquaintances and had met a few friendly people. Lepore _did_ seem to know everyone, introducing them to quite a few lords and ladies, and his wit and humor did much in putting everyone at ease. Meanwhile, Bevier diverted the conversation to ease the pressure on Menina, or else tried to steer it toward areas in which she was, to his knowledge, well versed or interested. He did that less and less as Menina grew more sure of herself, but he also found himself glowering forbiddingly at a young lord or two to make it clear that the young woman was under his protection and he would brook no improprieties from them.

It seemed like an eternity before Lepore finally got around to introducing Menina to Maraline. Bevier offered a silent prayer of thanks when they finally started off toward where the dark-haired woman stood with a small group of friends. He offered another when flirtatious smiles bloomed on the ladies' faces at their approach. 

"My Ladies," Lepore greeted them with a bow. "I give you good evening."

"My Lords," Maraline replied, inclining her head gracefully. "How kind of you to come by and say hello."

"You do us the kindness, my Lady," Bevier said before his brother knight could speak, "for allowing us to bask in the radiance of your beauty and the warmth of your presence." 

One of Maraline's friends giggled, her golden curls bouncing. "What a pretty thing to say!"

"But not at all surprising," Maraline remarked with a small smile. "Although he is a soldier of God, Lord Bevier has the soul of a poet."

After giving the black-haired Cyrinic a sidelong glare, silently ordering him to leave the ladies alone, Lepore donned his most charming smile and turned back to Maraline and her friends. "In addition to basking in your presence, my Ladies, my brother knight and I are here on a sort of errand. May I present Bevier's ward, Mistress Menina…?" He drew her forth with a flourish. "She is new to court and we seek to make her feel more comfortable by helping her make new friends. Menina, meet the Lady Maraline, Lady Sarpina, and Lady Ariyan." 

Fresh from meeting a very friendly countess, Menina smiled warmly at the women and sank into a curtsy. "Good evening, my Ladies." She was tall enough such that, even with her knees bent and head lowered, she was just slightly shorter than the petite Maraline.

"Good evening…Mistress, is it?" the blonde Sarpina asked, looking her over keenly.

"Yes, my Lady," Menina confirmed as she straightened. "But please call me Menina."

"You have an accent," Maraline noted then. "You are not from these parts."

"Indeed I am not, my Lady," the redheaded young woman told her. "I come from Rendor."

"A Rendor!" the dark-haired woman exclaimed, exchanging looks with her friends.

The expressions on their faces did not seem very pleasant, but Menina said nothing. She had forgotten that there was still some prejudice against her kind, especially in Arcium. Perhaps, if these ladies gave her a chance, she would be able to disprove their negative preconceptions about Rendors.

But when the women spoke again, she knew that they were not going to give her that chance. "My, but you are a tall one!" observed the woman called Ariyan. "Are all Rendors as tall as you? Does your height not make you feel positively gawky?"

Menina scowled slightly, but gave a polite answer. "We come in all sizes, my Lady, but I believe I am a bit taller than most Rendorish women. And I am happy with the way I am built."

"I, too, am happy with the way you are built, Mistress," Lepore interjected, giving her an ostentatious once-over. He winked at her, ignoring the nudge from Bevier (the fourth one he had earned that evening), as the ladies erupted into blushing giggles. Menina replied with a grateful smile.

"Her height displays her gown to its greatest advantage, my dear Ariyan," Maraline told her friend. "And that _is a _very_ unique gown, Mistress," she remarked to Menina. "I believe there isn't another one _quite like it_ in the room."_

The dark-haired woman was subtler than was her friend, but her meaning was clear: Menina's gown was not at all what was fashionable. Instead of feeling hurt, however, the redheaded young woman smiled sweetly. "Thank you, my Lady. The Lady Arda and I were hoping I would be distinctive, instead of looking like…oh, the rest of the _herd, so to speak."_

Her rejoinder drew a snicker from Lepore, a disapproving scowl from Bevier and angry flushes from the ladies. "One must follow the fashions," Sarpina argued.

"Indeed?" Menina frowned thoughtfully and turned to the knight who had quite obviously allied himself with her. "My Lord, you are well-versed in both the law and the teachings of the Church. Do you recall ever seeing it written that one is required to follow the fashion?"

"Why, no, Mistress," Lepore responded, all wide-eyed innocence. He turned to the other knight, whose expression had remained tight. "Do you, Bevier?"

"I am appalled at your behavior toward Lady Maraline and her friends," Bevier admonished after the ladies had hastily excused themselves. "You were most uncivil, Menina."

She stiffened, stung by his remark. "Well, I thank you for paying close attention to what I was saying, my Lord. But I, too, am appalled because you did not show those ladies the same courtesy."

His heavy brows drew together in a frown that she had not seen directed at her in a long time. "And just what did you mean by that?" he asked.

"Why don't you think about it, old man?" Lepore retorted, and turned from Bevier to hail a passing duke. "Elias! I've been looking all over for you, old boy! Come here. Bevier and I wish to introduce you and your lady to someone."

"Oh, please, no more introductions," Menina pleaded with him as a dark-haired couple walked, hand in hand, over to where she stood with Bevier and Lepore. "Not after those women."

"I am not about to let you end your first night at court with a meeting like that," the brown-haired knight told her, patting her hand reassuringly. "Do not worry, divinity. The duke and duchess are vastly different from those women. And I promise, after this, I shall return you to Lady Arda straightaway."

"What about Bevier?"

"Who cares about him? Ouch!" Lepore exclaimed when the other knight prodded him in the back.

He was unable to retaliate, however, because by then, the Duke Elias and his wife had reached them. "Something the matter, Lepore?" the duke asked. "You look rather pained."

"'Tis just his rheumatism," Bevier replied with a perfectly straight face. If Menina had not been so put out with him, she would have laughed.

Elias smiled at him then. "Bevier!" he exclaimed. "Why, it's been ages since we last saw each other! But then you have been busy having all sorts of adventures abroad, have you not?"

"They were not really adventures," was the modest reply. "Just Church business."

"Be that as it may, you have come a long way from our time as students at university."

"So have you, Elias."

"Oh! That reminds me — I do not think you have had the chance to meet my wife." The duke smiled at her as he drew her forward. "Galema, you already know Lepore—"

"I do not mind being reintroduced," Lepore joked.

Elias laughed appreciatively and carried on with his introductions. "This is Bevier, a friend of mine from university and the champion of the Cyrinic Order. Bevier, my wife Galema. We were wed three years ago."

Galema smiled and spread her skirts in a curtsy. "My Lord."

"My Lady," Bevier replied, bending over her hand briefly. "I am honored to make your acquaintance. Please accept my extremely belated congratulations." 

After Lepore cleared his throat meaningfully, it was Menina's turn to be brought forward. "Now," Bevier said, "please allow me to introduce to you my ward, Mistress Menina. She was my cousin Lilear's stepdaughter, now come to live with us in Catalum. Menina, this is the Duke Elias and his duchess, the Lady Galema."

"Your Grace," Menina greeted the duke, self-consciously sinking into a low curtsy.

"Pleased to meet you, Mistress," Elias replied.

Heartened by the cordial reply, Menina extended a similar greeting to the duchess, who curtsied back and took her hand companionably. "You have such beautiful hair, Mistress," Galema complimented her.

"Thank you, my Lady." She studied the other woman warily. Like Maraline and her friends, the duchess was dressed at the height of fashion in a gown of sapphire blue, but unlike the other women, she was slightly taller and more slender. Her expression was also much more open and friendly. "And please, call me Menina."

"Then you must call me Galema! You are not from around here, are you?"

Further, unlike Maraline and her friends, the duchess had someone who tried to keep her in line. "Ah, please excuse my wife, Mistress," Elias said, flushing when he noticed that Menina had stiffened. "She is blessed with a curious nature."

"That is quite all right, my Lord," Menina replied, then turned to the duchess to answer her question. The sooner they found out she was a Rendor, the sooner the introduction would end and she could return to the dowager viscountess. "No, my Lady, I am not from around here. I am from Rendor."

Galema gasped, but not in horror. "How exciting! I went to Jiroch once, but did not see much of that city. Do you hail from Jiroch?"

"No, my Lady—"

"Galema," the duchess corrected her.

"Galema," Menina repeated dutifully, blushing as she did so. It was the first time someone had asked her to call them by their given name all evening. "I…I do not come from any one place, really. My, ah, family moves around often."

"Then you must have seen the entire kingdom! I traveled often with my father and then with Elias before we had the children, but in all that time I have never visited Rendor except for that brief stay in Jiroch. You must tell me what it is like! Is it as hot and dry and — I must admit — dirty as Jiroch? Did you ever spend time in the desert? Are there really piles of skulls there like the books say?" Galema broke off and blushed. "Am I talking too much?"

Menina found herself laughing, all her previous tension gone. "I do not mind it."

"You must forgive me, I am just very excited to meet someone new and I am fascinated with other lands."

"And I am pleased to meet someone who wishes to know more about my country," the redheaded young woman answered warmly. "I would be pleased to answer all your questions if I can."

"Well, come on then! We shall find a nice place where we may sit and become better acquainted, and the men shall get us something nice to drink — won't you, Elias?"

"As my lady commands," her husband replied with a bow.

"I love it when he says that," Galema confided.

As the duchess towed her away in search of a nice place to sit, Menina smiled at Lepore and Bevier. This was the way she would end her first night at court — by making a new friend.

* * *

Maraline and her friends lost no time in spreading the word about Menina's Rendorish origins. This caused some of the people who had been friendly that first night to now avoid her, but most remained sociable when they saw that she was very close friends with the Duchess Galema, one of the Queen's most trusted ladies-in-waiting.  

Menina was glad that the entire court now knew that she was a Rendor. It enabled her to find out who truly wanted to get to know her. She hoped that, once they did, they would like her for whom she was and become her friend. Still, she could not help feeling the tiniest bit hurt when she saw or heard someone whispering about or laughing at her.

Even Afreet laughed at her, but for an entirely different reason.

"Have you not tired of laughing at my riding costume?" Menina asked him irritably one morning.

The black stallion bared his teeth in an equine grin.

"How many times must I tell you? This is what is fashionable here in Arcium."

He snorted.

She sighed. "I suppose I do look rather ridiculous," she grumbled, flicking impatiently at the longest of the russet-brown feathers in her cap. It was tickling her ear. "Perhaps I should not ride at all."

Afreet nuzzled her gloved hand in a conciliatory fashion.

"You are willing to carry me even though I am dressed like this?"

He bobbed his head, as if nodding, and pawed at the ground. The black stallion clearly no longer wanted to play games with her and was eager for exercise. 

"You are bound by your word, then," Menina laughed. 

She led him out of his stall in the palace stables, waving off a hovering groom's offer of help, swung up onto her horse's bare back, and took off. 

Afreet galloped out of the stables. He did not fear running into other riders on his way to the riding park. Most courtiers tended to retire in the wee hours and sleep until noon, and those that did not knew better than to get in the big black stallion's way.

Menina, however, yanked at the reins moments after they bounded out into the park. Afreet whinnied in protest. "Afreet!" she commanded. "Behave yourself!"

The black horse obeyed grudgingly and stood still, sulking, as the only other rider in the park galloped toward them. "Good morning, Your Highness," Menina greeted the rider, curtsying as best she could while wearing a split riding skirt and sitting atop a horse.

Prince Aventor reined his bay stallion alongside Afreet, concern written all over his handsome face. "Mistress Menina, are you all right?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "I am perfectly fine, Your Highness," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"You seemed to be having some trouble with your horse earlier."

"Oh." She smiled and reached down to stroke her horse's inky mane. Afreet twitched his ears in dismissal of the caress. "I am all right, Your Highness. Afreet is just, er, rather frisky this morning."

He then turned an interested gaze at the black stallion. "He is your horse?"

"Yes, Your Highness, he is mine." 

"He has caught my eye in the stables a few times and I have been wondering who was fortunate enough to own such a fine animal. I suppose I should have known it was you — I have heard you are of the Maranatoi." 

At that, Menina stiffened. While she found no shame and indeed took pride in her Rendorish origins, she was now painfully aware that certain others, many of whom came from Arcium's older families, viewed her background differently. Was that a sneer she heard in the prince's voice?

Aventor's eyes, which were blue like his mother's, widened at the guarded expression that came over her face and he quickly raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, Mistress, while many Elenes are prejudiced against Rendors, I assure you I am not one of those poor misguided souls."

"That is good to know," she said, her expression still guarded. 

"In fact," he went on earnestly, "when I assume my father's throne, I intend to pursue greater trade and political relations with Rendor. I wish to teach my people to be more tolerant of other cultures."

"I think the best way to teach them, Your Highness, is to set an example as early as now."

"You make a very good point," Aventor conceded. "If I begin now, while I am still a prince, it will show everyone that I am sincere in my efforts — which I assure you I am," he added. He then assumed his customary jaunty grin. "So, in the interest of promoting Arcian-Rendor relations, Mistress Menina, will you ride with me?"

There was a loud whinny and she laughed. "Afreet thought you would never ask, Your Highness."

**More Author's Notes:** I would especially appreciate feedback on the content of this chapter and pacing of the story. Was the chapter too short? Does it leave you sort of hanging? I thought I would limit the coverage to Menina's first experience at court and encounter with anti-Rendor prejudice, and then tackle her rise in popularity/notoriety in the next chapter. If you think this is too short, what other things should happen before I end? Suggestions are welcome. I might revise this chapter later. Thank you very much!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer:** As usual, Sir Bevier and the kingdom of Arcium belong to David and Leigh Eddings. They also own Elron the "poet," who first appeared in Domes of Fire (Book I of the Tamuli). Menina, Afreet, Arda, Gregor and most of the Arcian court are mine. 

**Technical Notes:** I've gotten quite a few reviews noting that Bevier is a bit out of character in this fic, especially with regard to Menina. I would just like to remind everyone that this is the same guy who beheaded a man just because he was offensive (then prayed for the dead man's soul right afterward). Sparhawk himself had observed that once Bevier is certain that he is in the right, he takes astonishingly direct action. And frankly, I think someone like Menina would disturb him and make him act just a little crazy, even if she is a woman :-P 

**Author's Notes:** Sorry again about the long wait. This story is being mighty troublesome, but I think I've managed to write this chapter to my satisfaction. Thank you, readers, for your patience and continued interest. Special thanks go to sushifatale, SweetLee and Iona for the tremendously encouraging feedback. (You make all this trouble worthwhile!) I would also like to thank the ladies of the Sugar Quill Writers' Workshop 2 for helping me wrestle this chapter into submission.

Chapter Eight 

That morning at the park signaled the beginning of a friendship that would soon capture the attention of the entire court. Menina herself was already hard to miss, towering proudly as she did above all the other ladies (and some of the lords as well), but when Arcium's most eligible bachelor began to actively seek her company, people were compelled to sit up and take notice.

"Rumor has it that Prince Aventor now rises early in the mornings to indulge his newfound passion for riding," Count Ogelor remarked as he and several young lords practiced their fencing one afternoon, "and, it is said, his passion for his redheaded riding companion."

Bevier scowled at the ugly laughter that greeted this statement and put up his sword, indicating to Elias that he desired a stoppage to their sparring. "I beg your pardon, my Lord?" he asked Ogelor. "What did you just say?"

The steel in his voice sent many subsiding into silence, but it did not deter the count. "Lord Bevier, have you not noticed that the prince is keeping company with your ward?" 

"Of course I have," he said. "She is my ward, after all. I can see that they are often together, dancing or conversing, in the evenings. However, that does not mean anything. Menina has told my mother and myself that she and the prince are only friends and nothing more."

"Are they?" asked the other man, his thin lips curling in a serpentine smile. "His Highness does seem very attached to her — he refused an invitation to my wife's salon when he found out Mistress Menina had not been invited."

"I beg your pardon, my Lord," Elias interjected, "but perhaps that was an unfortunate coincidence._ Menina is almost always present at __my wife's gatherings, but His Highness has only attended one or two."_

"I heard the prince presented her with a casket full of jewels," a young baron remarked.

Bevier rolled his eyes. He had no idea how such news traveled, or how they became so grossly exaggerated. "It was nothing more than a necklace — a pretty little thing, nothing important — and she sent it back." 

"Perhaps _you sent it back," Ogelor said._

"No, she herself chose not to accept it," he declared. "Menina has always been rather shy about accepting gifts, even from us, her own family." He had always found it rather odd, but in the case of the necklace, she had done the right thing. Accepting the gift would have set tongues wagging harder than they were now.

Another lordling snickered, indicating his disbelief. "Perhaps she is holding out for a betrothal ring."

Ogelor shook his head, as if despairing over the young woman's naïveté. "Prince Aventor is the heir to the throne. He cannot marry a woman who, for all her appeal to him, is a commoner and a Rendor to boot."

"Menina has said time and again that she is not interested in marriage — to _anyone," Bevier informed him. "And even if she were, she is not foolish. She knows the demands of the prince's station. She is aware that she cannot marry him."_

"Then perhaps she is aspiring to another sort of arrangement altogether," another nobleman suggested.

Elias scowled at him. "My Lord, do you think Bevier or the Lady Arda would ever countenance such a thing?"

"No," Bevier answered firmly on behalf of himself and his mother, "we would not; and Menina would never choose to shame herself or the family in such a manner."

"Not even if she _really_ wanted to?" Ogelor wanted to know, arching an eyebrow.

"Not even if she really wanted to," he declared, drawing his sword. Bevier took care that the weapon made an ominous sound as he slid it from its scabbard. "My Lords, I fear that this conversation has become increasingly tasteless," he continued, inspecting the razor-sharp blade, "and is now bordering on slanderous. Anyone who wishes to further discuss my ward's potential as a royal mistress does so at his own risk." He looked at every man in the room, staring the hardest at Ogelor. "Do I make myself clear?"

Elias grinned at him. "Pray do not vent all your anger on me, Bevier," he chuckled as they began to dance around each other, swords in hand, once more. "Galema will not be pleased if you send her husband back to her in pieces." 

* * *

Despite Menina's assertions that she and Prince Aventor were only friends, the seeds of suspicion had been planted, and Bevier found himself watching his ward more closely. To his relief, while Menina continued to behave unconventionally, she conducted herself beyond reproach when in the company of the prince.

"Of course they behave properly _now," Maraline remarked one evening as Aventor returned Menina to Arda's side with a gracious bow, "but what about when they are alone?"_

But they were never alone. At public functions, Menina was often in the company of many other admirers and people such as the Duchess Galema, who had become quite a good friend. She also continued to retire at the same time as Arda, something Bevier appreciated because not only did it indicate that the young woman continued to be devoted to his mother, it also assured him that the dowager viscountess was also conducting herself as was proper for a widow of her standing. 

Everything was proceeding as well as could be expected until the evening when the pair put on a spectacle that threw even Bevier into serious doubt about the nature of their relationship.

A masque was held that evening. The court glittered with people in fanciful costumes, their faces concealed with elaborate masks that were removed only at the stroke of midnight. Besides featuring the usual feasting and dancing, the costumed guests presented tableaux or short plays for the amusement of the assembly.

Menina was in one such tableau. That evening, she was garbed as a robin in a gown of garnet velvet, with a bright red bodice. Although the upper half of her face was hidden by a half-mask embellished with a golden beak, her height and bright red hair bespoke her identity.

Her skirts, embroidered with small golden feathers, foamed around her as she danced by herself in the middle of the hall, using high leaps and spins to give the illusion of flight. The occasional glimpse of her long legs, sheathed in bright yellow stockings, sent both thrills and chills throughout her audience. "What a vulgar display!" a matronly butterfly gasped. Her wings quivered with indignation. "I believe I shall swoon!"

"Whatever you say, dear," her husband replied absently. It was apparent that if she did indeed swoon, no one was going to pay her any attention.

The robin was so caught up in the joy of flying that she failed to notice that a lithe black cat had begun to stalk her. The figure in the close-fitting black suit was obviously male; and judging from the golden hair clearly visible behind his black half-mask, it was also obvious which male this was.

"Whatever does he see in her?" another woman wondered as Prince Aventor began to circle his "prey." 

"There is plenty to see in her," Arda retorted, her voice as sharp as the thorns of the rose she was representing that night. "Menina is an Original." 

"I happened to be out in the park at the same time as the girl this morning," a portly earl reported. "She possesses a fine mount, but doesn't know the first thing about riding. She _stood straight up on the beast's back at one point, and she did not use a saddle the whole time!"_

His countess gasped. "How uncivilized!" she exclaimed as the younger members of the court cried out in surprise and encouragement. The robin had finally caught on to the cat's presence and was now being openly pursued. "But then I suppose that is only to be expected, given her origins…"

Arda stiffened, but before she could reply, Gregor, who had been at her side the entire evening, had already spoken. 

"My Lady Belita, the Maranatoi have been breeding and training horses for thousands of years," he said mildly as Menina and the prince engaged in a footrace around the dance floor. "Menina's skills come from a body of knowledge that took eons to build. I doubt if any _uncivilized_ people can boast of that."

"Be that as it may," the first woman insisted, "there was no need for her to make an even bigger spectacle of herself. She is already _so very different_ from us as it is."

"Not everyone on this earth is Arcian, Lanora," Arda told her. "Surely you, after having spent so many years at court, must be aware of that." 

Menina's detractors subsided into a grudging silence at the polite rebuke. Although she had lived in the country for many years, Arda had led the ladies of the court in their day and, now that she had returned, was clearly resuming her position as the leader of their circle. It was also apparent that Menina could do no wrong in her eyes and the dowager viscountess would naturally come to the girl's defense. 

Nevertheless, they continued to glare their disapproval as the cat, having finally caught the robin, led her in a dance the likes of which none had ever seen before. 

Even the more progressive members of the court found that they were taken aback at the close proximity of the dancers and the disturbing intimacy of their movements. "What an amazing dance," Elias remarked quietly as he and his duchess watched the performance. "Would you be interested in trying it out in our apartments later tonight?"

"That is quite a suggestion to make to a bride of the Church," Galema giggled, her pink-cheeked face beaming up from the generous wimple of her nun's habit. "And you a man of the cloth yet."

"I won't be one when this monk's robe comes off."

"Oh, _Elias!"_

In another part of the hall, Maraline and her friends were not enjoying the performance as much as the duke and duchess. "Look at her, just _look_ at her!" exclaimed the dark-haired woman. "It's positively indecent!"

"The king and queen are beside themselves," Ariyan remarked, nodding toward where the prince's parents were sitting. In truth, they had rather surprised looks on their faces, but did not look angry at all. 

Bevier, on the other hand, _was beside himself. His hands were clenched into fists as he watched Aventor grasp his partner firmly by the waist and whirl her in a mad circle. The cat was ravaging the robin and it was violent, savage and…__lewd._

He could do no more than glower, however, because Lepore had clamped a quelling hand on his arm. "Easy now, old man."

"This cannot go on," Bevier replied tightly. He spied Ogelor smirking at him from across the room and looked away quickly. "She is bringing shame to the family."

"_You_ will bring more shame to your family if you step in there and drag her away from the prince in the middle of their dance."

"Do you call that a _dance? Menina is behaving like a harlot!"_

"Lower your voice!" his brother knight hissed. "She is _not_ one and that is what is important."

Bevier glared at Lepore, then turned back to the tableau in time to see Menina slump dramatically to the floor. "What—"

The hand on his arm tightened. "It's part of the dance, Bevier. Look, the cat has been sated."

Sure enough, the prince strutted away shortly in a self-satisfied manner. Bevier tried to come forward again to help Menina to her feet, but Aventor, now out of character, returned and reached her first.

The black-haired Cyrinic glared at the unknowing prince as the performers made their bows to a fair amount of applause. The dance was a warning to Bevier to be more vigilant. Menina, though only several years younger than he, was hopelessly naïve when it came to matters between men and women. 

She was his responsibility and he had to watch out for her, lest she wind up as broken and ruined as the robin she had so recently portrayed.

* * *

"Did you see the looks on their faces?" Aventor chortled the next morning. "I thought fat old Viscount Damson was going to explode!"

Menina smiled as she and the prince walked their horses to cool them down after their daily ride. "It is a good thing he did not," she said, "else everyone would watched him instead of us."

"They could not have torn their eyes from you even with people exploding all over the hall," he laughingly told her as they entered the cool, damp darkness of the stables. "That was quite a dance."

She chuckled self-consciously. "I was not the only one dancing last night, Your Highness."

"Well, speaking as your partner, that was quite a dance." Aventor smiled as he handed his mount's reins to a waiting groom, who led the bay away, giving Afreet a wide berth. "I was afraid that, as we did not have much time to rehearse, our performance would not go smoothly, but you were magnificent."

Afreet nosed Menina's shoulder and she busied herself with rubbing down her mount. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"You moved very naturally," the prince noted. "Have you have done this sort of thing before? Did our dance remind you of the dances of your tribe?"

"Now that you have mentioned it, Your Highness, they do." She breathed deeply and let memories of the Maranatoi flood her along with the stable scents of straw and horse. "Our dances are not as rigid as the ones here at court. There is less ritual, less formality…more movement."

"More passion." 

There was a husky note in the prince's voice that sent a spark of feminine awareness racing up Menina's spine. "Ah…y–yes," she agreed, stepping quickly around Afreet to put the black stallion in between herself and the prince. "That is another way of putting it."

"Fascinating. You must show them to me some time." He smiled, his blue eyes looking deep into her green ones. "How about now?"

"May I help you with your horse, milady?" a deep male voice asked before the prince could lean closer to her.

Menina spun around, relieved, and beamed at the welcome sight of Rom, the workman from Catalum. "I would appreciate it, Goodman," she said quickly, handing over Afreet's reins and noting in passing that while her horse was usually wary of strangers, he took to this man right off. "I, ah, need to return to the viscountess. She should be awake by now and may be looking for me. If I may be excused, Your Highness?" she addressed the prince.

"Yes, yes, of course," Aventor replied. "Thank you for your company this morning, Mistress, and do send my regards to Lady Arda." He gave Rom an annoyed look, but instead of cowering, the burly man stared coolly back. 

Menina bobbed a curtsy, gave Afreet one last pat, and left the stables. The prince had definite possibilities — he was the most likely candidate, in fact — but the time was not yet right.

* * *

Besides the prince, Menina had several other admirers as well. A few of them had rather unsavory reputations, others were much older and some were even married. All of them, however, lavished her with flowers, trinkets and other tokens of their esteem. 

Menina was perfectly entitled to accept them, of course, Bevier thought as the fourth bouquet of the day was delivered to their chambers one golden afternoon; it was what these men wanted from her in exchange that worried him.

"Thank you, Idalia," Menina said as the little maid laid the flowers with the others on a nearby table and delivered the note that had come with it. 

"From whom are the flowers, my dear?" Arda asked.

The redheaded young woman scanned the missive quickly. "From Count Ogelor, my Lady."

Bevier looked up from the latest reports from Catalum. _"Ogelor is sending you flowers?"_

She nodded, surprised at his reaction. "Yes, my Lord."

"Has he sent you gifts before?"

Menina shrugged. "Once or twice, I suppose."

He stroked his chin and peered at her closely. "And have you _thanked_ him for these gifts?"

"Of course she has," his mother interjected. "Menina always acknowledges them very politely when the earl comes to say hello to her in the evenings. I should know, I am always present during these exchanges." She peered at _him closely, and then turned her attention to the roses and lilies that had come from Ogelor. "Aren't they exquisite, Menina?"_

Menina glanced at the flowers, nodded and turned back to the book she was reading. "Yes, my Lady. They will look lovely on the altar in the chapel."

Bevier smothered a smile. The redheaded young woman had no interest in Ogelor, of that he was certain; her total lack of enthusiasm for the bouquet indicated that she was not inclined to keep it any more than the others. She always offered her flowers to the Church, with the exception of the ones from Lepore, and only because he was clever enough to address his offerings to both Arda and Menina. Menina saved those because she thought they would be good for the dowager viscountess's spirits.

"Would you care for an apricot, my Lord?" Idalia asked him then, proffering a woven straw basket full of the plump, golden fruit.

"They are very sweet, Bevier," Arda said. "Master Bayhard sent them."

Bevier's eyebrows rose questioningly as he took one. "Bayhard? The poet?" The court was buzzing over the news that Master Bayhard had written a new play to be presented on the night of Queen Linde's birthday. Menina had been cast in the role of the Dawn, opposite Prince Aventor's Sun King. 

"The very same," his mother replied happily. Roles in the Queen's plays were very much sought after, and to win one was a sign of royal favor. "Master Bayhard sent them just this morning, along with a lovely poem he had written just for Menina."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. It was a very nice poem, too. He likened Menina's complexion to the skin of an apricot, wasn't that lovely?"

"Lovely." Bevier glanced at the fruit in his hand, and then at Menina. The comparison was close, he decided, but not quite. He supposed that both were ripe, rosy and soft to the touch (not that he had ever touched Menina long enough to make an informed comparison), but an apricot did not have the bronze tones that still lingered in Menina's skin long after she had left the sun-blasted sands of Rendor, the same bronze that shone in a sunlit pot of honey. Perhaps her skin was more like a honeyed apricot?

He shook his head to clear it. _Bevier, what are you thinking?_

He became aware of Menina looking at him, her green eyes sparkling with merriment. For a moment, Bevier feared that she was going to tease him about woolgathering, but when she spoke, she still spoke about Master Bayhard's poem. "That is not all, Bevier," she told him, her sober tone at odds with the amusement in her eyes. "He also likened my hair to apricot jam."

 "Apricot jam?" he repeated. Menina nodded, giggling, and he, too, began to laugh. _Apricot jam!_ It sounded like something that Elron, the self-proclaimed Astellian poet and patriot, would write.

Arda gave them a severe look. "Now, really, children, the poor man poured his soul into that poem."

"I am sorry, my Lady," the redheaded young woman replied when she regained control of herself. "I appreciate his thoughtful and original gift, but…" She wrinkled her nose. "Well, I must admit I am not very fond of him and his affectations. He is amusing and very committed to his art, but he can also be rather pompous, and he wears the most noxious perfume."

"Does he?" Bevier asked. As he had not been invited to participate in the play, he had not had the opportunity to work closely with the man and, uh, smell him.

Menina nodded again, still grimacing in disgust. "It is the most terrible flowery scent. I do not think a woman would wear it, let alone a man. Men can smell of wood or spices, but not flowers."

He flushed. Had she been looking at him when she said that? "Well, I suppose that is your opinion," he said, then changed the subject. "I am pleased to see you still reading, Menina."

"One must read in order to be able to make witty conversation," Menina said with a smile as Idalia rushed to answer another knock on the door. "Besides, this is a very fascinating account of the history of Arcium. I want to know what happened after the Great Siege of Larium."

"Who was it, Idalia?" Arda asked when the door was closed once again.

"More flowers, my Lady," the little maid reported, returning with an extravagant bouquet of yellow and white jonquils that filled the room with fragrance. Bevier watched her walk right past Menina and present the flowers to his mother. "From the Baron Gregor."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** David & Leigh Eddings own King Dregos, Sir Bevier and the continent of Eosia. Everyone and everything else belongs to me. 

**Author's Notes: There was quite a bit of this chapter than I had not yet written, but it was getting too long so I cut it and decided that this portion could stand on its own. I hope you think so, too.**

Many thanks to Sweetlee, Rei/Relic of Saturn, Rivan Codex, Dagaz1, marauders4eva and Iolo (here's a bit to keep your brain from imploding) for reviewing and to you for reading. Happy holidays, everyone!

Chapter Nine 

"How lovely," Menina said with a smile of pleasure.

"It should be," Aventor told her. "Master Orocan is the best jeweler in the kingdom. The necklace is solid gold and it contains nine Stars of Lamorkand."

She gasped. "Indeed? Nine?" The Stars of Lamorkand were the finest of all sapphires, coming from only a single jewel mine in the most remote and feud-riddled corner of that perennially unstable kingdom. She knew from her reading that people paid a pretty penny to possess the extremely rare gemstones.

"There were supposed to be ten, but they could only find nine of the right size on the market. Well, on the _legal_ market, anyway."

"Her Majesty is going to love it."

Queen Linde's birthday was drawing nearer, and everyone in the castle was frantically busy preparing for such an event. Servants were rushing to finish all the preparations in time for the day's festivities, while the courtiers were planning their wardrobes and, more importantly, their gifts for the Queen. Rumors of gold and silver plate, bolts of rare fabrics, barrels of exotic spices and all sorts of unusual trinkets were making the rounds as lords and ladies sought to gain royal favor through the richness of their gifts. Aventor had just confided to Menina that King Dregos planned to gift his wife with a fabulous necklace and was now worrying over what _he_ would present his mother. "I wish _I_ could give her something like that," he fretted.

"Well, then, why not buy her a pair of ear-bobs or a ring to match the necklace?" Menina suggested. "They need not contain Stars of Lamorkand, too, but 'twould be a nice gesture if you completed the set."

"I had thought of that, too, but there's no time. I did not know of Father's plans until it was too late." He shifted on the marble bench, stretched out his long legs and studied the grass beneath his feet. The sun shining through the tree branches overhead cast dappled shadows on his wheat-blond hair. "Besides, I don't know if I want to _buy_ her gift. Mother's the Queen. She has everything already."

"Perhaps you can _make her a gift? Whatever it will be, I am certain she will love it because it was wrought by your hands." She smiled reminiscently. "My brother once whittled a wooden chain for me, very long ago. I treasured it until it fell apart some years later." In fact, she still had the pieces of fragrant cedar hidden away among her things, a symbol of the ties she had broken with her past life._

"I did not know you had a brother."

Menina blushed when she realized what she had just let slip. "Ah…yes," she said, lowering her eyes to the empty patch of bench between them. "I once had a brother."

There was an awkward pause and Aventor's hand covered hers. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

As he made no move to do more than just hold her hand, she did not edge away. "'Tis quite all right, Your Highness."

"We will not talk about him again."

"Thank you." She forced a smile back on her face and returned her gaze to the prince. "Now," she said briskly, determined to steer the conversation away from her past life, "what will you make for your mother? Will you carve her something? Paint her a picture?"

He made a face and shook his head. "I cannot do any of those things. I fear I am not very good with my hands. I mean, I am _very_ good with my hands," he amended with a sly glance in her direction, "but not in the way that you mean."

"Well, then why not make her something with your mind?" Menina pressed, ignoring the prince's innuendo. "Perhaps you could write a song or poem for the Queen, and present it to her at the banquet."

Again, Aventor shook his head. "I'm not very good at that, either. It's all I can do to learn my lines for Master Bayhard's play," he said, glancing distastefully at the thick sheaf of parchment containing the lines they were supposed to be practicing. The poet appeared to be very fond of long, flowery speeches, and as the male lead, the prince had more than most. "Besides, only girls do that sort of thing."

"No, Your Highness, a girl would be able to at least _sew_ something."

The prince laughed. "Indeed," he agreed, and then assumed a rueful expression. "I realize now that I may have missed something by failing to learn a skill or trade of some sort. If I had done so, I would not be in such a quandary right now."

"'Tis never too late to learn something new," Menina counseled, "but I fear it may be too late to do so in time for your mother's birthday. Now, you must make do with what you have. What _are_ you good at?" 

"Sword-fighting and statecraft, I suppose," he replied with a shrug. "But I cannot give her a trade treaty or an Eshandist's head on a pike, although she's Thalesian — she might appreciate that…" His voice trailed off as his handsome face lit up. "By God, I've got it!"

"Got what?"

"The perfect present! I shall win the tournament for her!" Aventor beamed at her. He, like many lords of the court, had enlisted to participate in the jousting tournament planned for the afternoon of the Queen's birthday. "You're brilliant!"

She smiled back hesitantly. "But I did nothing, Your Highness," she demurred.

"You helped me come up with an idea for Mother's present. I would never have thought of making or doing something for her if not for you." He drew nearer, his blue eyes darkening to deep cobalt. "I am so fortunate to have you as a friend."

Menina finally tugged her hand out of his and stood up quickly just as he was about to lean toward her. "And I am fortunate that you call me friend, Your Highness," she said, moving out of reach. She giggled when the prince, thwarted in his attempt to steal a kiss, pouted like a petulant child. "That would have been highly improper," she told him.

"Why?" demanded the prince. "I'm a man. You're a woman. Neither of us is promised to anyone."

"But I have never been kissed before," she said. "That would have been my first, and I have always been led to believe that a woman's first kiss should be special."

"What could be more special than the gratitude of a prince?"

"His victory," Menina replied with a flippant smile. 

Aventor's scowl dissipated and one corner of his mouth kicked up as her meaning sank in. "Are you saying you will kiss me if I win the tournament?" he asked, the mischievous twinkle re-entering his eyes.

She felt her face heat, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. It was true that she had never kissed anyone before, and she was rather shocked at having suggested such a thing. Nevertheless, it was just a kiss, she told herself, nothing more than a brief meeting of mouths. She had might as well lose that part of her innocence right away in order to move on to more serious things. _The first step is always the hardest._ "Yes, Your Highness," she finally told him. "I will."

* * *

Menina and the prince told no one of their small wager and carried on as usual in public. They continued to keep company at the evening banquets and rehearsed together for Master Bayhard's play when the prince was not practicing for the tournament. 

They also still went on their morning rides in the park. Because Aventor was bent on improving himself, Menina was teaching him to do stunts on horseback as she did. It was not the trade she had had in mind when they had discussed ideas for Queen Linde's birthday present, but at least the prince was applying himself to learning new skills.

It was after one such lesson that Menina encountered Count Ogelor. She had been walking through a secluded corridor, on her way back to her rooms, when he suddenly appeared. "Mistress Menina," he said with a bow. "Good morning."

She gasped in surprise but recovered quickly. "Good morning, my Lord," she replied with a curtsy.

His unctuous smile melted into a look of concern. "I hope I did not startle you?"

"I was rather startled," Menina admitted, "but pray do not concern yourself over it. This is a quiet part of the palace, so I seldom encounter people here."

"Yes, 'tis rather quiet around here, is it not?" Ogelor agreed, glancing around. They were alone. "Very serene. I myself seldom rise before noon, so I have never had the chance to appreciate the peace of the early morning."

She nodded, unable to make any other reply. Privately, Menina was wondering why he was awake at this hour when he normally rose at noon, but feared that it was too personal a thing to ask, so she said nothing.

But it seemed that the count could read minds, and answered her question without her having to ask it. "I hope you will not think me bold, mistress — or perhaps even insane," the nobleman added with a self-deprecatory chuckle, "but the reason why I am up and about at this hour is because I was hoping to be able to talk to you."

"To _me, my Lord?"_

Ogelor nodded earnestly. "I was hoping to ask a favor of you."

"A favor? What sort of favor?"

"Why, a favor for the tournament, of course," he told her. "A small token, such as a ribbon or scarf, that would mark me as your champion. I would fight for you, mistress, and honor you with my victory."

Color rushed into her cheeks. "You flatter me, my Lord," she said carefully. The court ladies had long been discussing the tournament and the favors they would bestow upon their champions. There were intense rivalries between ladies seeking to bestow their favors on the same knight, while according to the Lady Maraline, there was a similar rivalry between the knights for _her favor. Menina had not expected to be asked to favor any knight. "But I fear I must decline."_

The count's cheeks darkened as well. "May I ask why?" he replied, with just the slightest tightness marring his voice.

"Because 'tis unseemly, my Lord. You are married, and should carry your wife's favor." Galema was embroidering a scarf especially for Elias, she recalled, marking it with love as much as with her stitches. "If I give you my favor and people find out, it will cause the most unwholesome talk."

"No one will find out. I will not tell anyone."

"But your wife will know, and I do not wish to hurt her." Ogelor's wife was plump, very wealthy, and a few years older than her husband. She snubbed Menina because the redheaded young woman was a Rendor, but that was no reason to cause an intrigue. 

"You barely know her." 

"Forgive me for saying so, my Lord, but I also barely know _you_."

Ogelor smiled. It was a singularly unpleasant sight. "That can easily be remedied." 

Menina's entire body tensed. "I would rather—"

_"Menina, my dear, where are you?"_

A small gasp of relief escaped her when she recognized Lady Arda's voice calling for her. "I am here, my Lady," she called back before the count could silence her.

_"But where is—" The dowager viscountess broke off as she appeared at the end of the corridor and caught sight of her. "Ah, there you are, my dear."_

Menina beamed gratefully at the older woman. "Yes, my Lady, here I am."

Arda stopped short when she realized that her ward and companion was not alone. "And Count Ogelor is with you."

"We met on my way back from the stables. He was just wishing me a good morning."

"And as you are already here, my Lady," Ogelor added smoothly, "there is no need for me to request Mistress Menina to convey my good wishes to _you."_

The dowager viscountess smiled. "How sweet. I wish you a good day, too. Now, if you will allow me to reclaim my dear Menina…?" She slipped her arm around the younger woman's. "We will be attending morning services shortly and she has yet to make herself presentable for God."

Ogelor inclined his head. "Who am I to stand between her and our God?" he replied with a chuckle. "Good day, ladies."

"What did that man want, Menina?" Arda asked Menina as the count took his leave and they started back toward their chambers.

The redheaded young woman blushed. "Nothing really, my Lady," she replied. "He merely asked that I give him my favor for the tournament on the Queen's birthday."

"And did you agree to give it to him?"

"No. I know he is married. I did not think it proper."

"Good girl. It really isn't, you know. A favor is symbolizes a bond between a lady and her knight."

"There is no relationship between Count Ogelor and myself!" Menina declared. "None at all!"

"It does not have to signify a romantic relationship, my dear," the dowager viscountess soothed her. "It may mean that you have a brotherly relationship with the knight, or that you are simply good friends."

"We are not even friends, my Lady," she confided in a low voice. "I see him as no more than a mere acquaintance. In fact," she went on, "I must admit I do not particularly care for him at all."

Arda patted the redheaded young woman's arm. "'Tis perfectly all right to dislike someone, Menina. 'Tis what marks us as human."

"So…I did the right thing by refusing him?"

The older woman gave her a reassuring smile. "Most certainly. A lady never gives her favors — material or otherwise — lightly, you know."

* * *

Bevier was reading. Or, rather, he was trying to read. Although his body was in the sitting room of his family suite, his mind was in the practice fields, reliving that afternoon's exercises and thinking of the tournament ahead.

In the beginning, it had been purely a social obligation, but as the day drew nearer, the tournament became more and more of a personal commitment. In the beginning, all that was expected of him was to make a respectable showing in the lists, for the sake of his family and the Cyrinic Order, but now, what he expected of himself was victory.

And he had that snake Ogelor to thank for that. Bevier knew from his mother, from Aphrael (she and Romalic were still keeping a vigilant eye on Menina for reasons he refused to think about), and finally from Ogelor himself that the count had asked Menina for a favor to carry to the tournament.

That had annoyed Bevier for some reason. Perhaps he suspected (most probably correctly) that the lecher was trying to seduce his ward. Perhaps he thought that the count had absolutely no right to bear Menina's favor. Perhaps it was the fact that, despite Church teachings on fellowship among men, Bevier just _hated Ogelor. They had known each other since their days in university and had never gotten along._

The two men had met in a mock-joust that afternoon. Bevier had ultimately unhorsed the count, deriving great satisfaction from watching him fall on his rear into the dust, but the win had come at quite a cost. 

During the first pass, Ogelor had deliberately lowered his lance and struck Nimbus in the shoulder. The lance had been blunted, causing nothing more than a bruise that the war-horse ignored for the rest of the match, and King Dregos's head groom had said that Nimbus would be all right in time for the tournament, but it was still worrisome. Romalic had later privately offered to help the horse make a miraculously quick recovery, but Bevier had declined on both religious and moral grounds. Now, he was wondering whether it was not too late to change his mind and just confess the transgression to Patriarch Emban afterward. _No, that would not be right._

Bevier wished that Lepore would return from Larium already. He sorely needed a friend to talk to. However, on second thought, his brother knight would probably tease him about being an overprotective old man or, even worse, announce that _he_ was entering the tournament and then request permission to ask Menina for her favor.

Presently, Menina's voice broke into his thoughts. "Bevier? May I speak to you?"

He looked up to find the redheaded young woman standing diffidently by the settee upon which he sat. "Certainly," he replied, wondering what she had to say to him. "Pray sit down."

She seated herself on a nearby chair, and Bevier saw that she was wringing her hands. He supposed that she was going to tell him about Ogelor's request. He fervently hoped that she was not going to ask his permission to give the count — or anyone else, for that matter — a favor.

He also saw that she was dressed in one of his mother's old gowns, her hair pulled back simply in the style she had barely worn since leaving Catalum. "Are you not going out this evening?" he asked.

Menina shook her head. "Your mother is tired and will stay in tonight," she replied. "I thought I would keep her company."

"I appreciate your devotion, Menina, but you do not have to do that. I can stay with her." Bevier gestured toward the book in his lap. "I am not going out, either."

Again, she shook her head. "I did not wish to go out tonight, anyway. I needed a respite from all the festivities of court."

"You do not like it here?"

"Oh, I did not say that," she said with a small smile. "It is all very exciting, and I have met quite a few lovely people, but one needs the occasional rest from the endless amusements." The mention of amusements sobered her and she stiffened in her seat. "Ah…speaking of amusements," she continued, trying to keep her voice nonchalant, "I am looking forward to the tournament on the Queen's birthday."

Menina watched his expression close. "Ah, yes," he said in a remote voice.

He apparently did not want to discuss it, but she pressed on. "That is what I wished to speak to you about, Bevier — the tournament."

"What about it?"

She blushed and looked down at her feet. "I heard from one of the grooms that Nimbus was injured this afternoon."

He nodded stiffly. Although this did not seem to have anything to do with Ogelor's request for a favor, the injury to his faithful war-horse was nevertheless another topic he wished to ignore for the time being. "But I have it on good authority that he will make a full recovery in time for the queen's birthday."

"Yes, I–I looked at him myself and 'tis indeed only a small hurt," she confirmed. Her heart began to race when she arrived to the next point of her carefully prepared speech. _Say it!_ Menina ordered herself. "But I was wondering…I was wondering if you would like to ride Afreet instead."

Bevier's jaw dropped at the unexpected offer. "You are offering to let me ride your horse in the tournament?"

"You move together well," she told him, hoping that such a remark did not sound improper, "and there is still time. You cannot spend it idly waiting for Nimbus to recover if you want to win. Of course," she added quickly, "you do not have to ride Afreet if you do not wish it. I just wanted to…see if I could give you something. To help you do honor to the family," she finished.

The color had not left the redheaded young woman's cheeks, and he felt a matching blush rise in his own face. It was as if she were giving _him her favor. The black stallion was a far cry from the ribbons and scarves that the other ladies were giving away, but when had Menina done anything in a conventional manner? _Of course,_ Bevier reminded himself, _she might not be thinking of such things and simply trying to do a good deed. But would she be blushing if that were the case?__

Either way, the gesture was to be appreciated. Afreet was extremely well trained and would provide an element of surprise in the tournament. He smiled at the thought of catching Ogelor completely unprepared. "Thank you very much for your favor—for doing me this favor, Menina," he finally said. "I would be honored to ride Afreet in the tournament."

Menina smiled and visibly relaxed. "I am glad to be of help," she told him. She then rose and smoothed her skirts. "If you will excuse me, Bevier, I shall go see if your mother needs anything and notify the prince that you will be exercising Afreet until the tournament."

The mention of the prince brought Bevier up short. He knew that Menina and Aventor were still very friendly, and it led him to wonder…"Menina, will His Highness be carrying your favor in the tournament?"

Her green eyes widened and she looked embarrassed, but she shook her head. "No, he will not. He is carrying a token from Her Majesty. I have not given anyone my favor."

_Until now._


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer:**Sir Bevier and his world belong to David & Leigh Eddings. Bevier's short speech to Queen Linde is a paraphrase of Psalms 1:1-3. I only own Menina, Afreet, and certain Arcians, some of whom I'd rather not be connected with.

**Technical Notes:**"Caparison" refers to the decorated coverings worn by horses, particularly by warhorses in the medieval times. "Lists" are the railings set up in the middle of the jousting field to keep the horses from running into each other.

**Author's Notes:**Here's the latest chapter, almost in time for Valentine's Day! (Sorry about the delay; I was planning to update last week but my ISP wouldn't let me _ ) An event in this chapter is one of the reasons why I was pondering an R rating for this story, but I eventually decided to stick with a PG-13. If I can have a "close call" in another PG-13 fic I'm writing, I can have two consenting adults making out in this one! (At least I think I can…)

Thanks to SweetLee, Dagaz1 (thanks for reviewing my other fic, too!), rootless Californian, Lady Bevier, macgyver70, Lacuuna, and Iolo for the reviews. I hope this chapter proves satisfactory.

Special thanks to Aurelia, for the lovely review and absorbing discussion on all things Elenium/Tamuli (and some other things, too). I'm still having trouble with the next chapter, but I think the entire story will be a much better one, thanks to you!

_Chapter Ten_

Her Royal Majesty Queen Linde of Arcium began her birthday celebration with a state procession down Ucera's main street. Townspeople lined the sun-splashed avenue and shouted their good wishes to the queen as she passed, resplendent in azure and gold, her husband's gift glittering around her still-youthful neck. A platoon of Cyrinic Knights, led by their preceptor and the champion of their order, rode in a square formation around the open carriage in which she rode with her husband and son. The leading nobles of the court, ordered according to rank, made up the rest of the procession.

The procession found its way to the cathedral in the center of town, where the Patriarch of Ucera led them all in worship. In his sermon, Emban spoke of God's gift of life and exhorted the congregation to follow the shining example set by Queen Linde and devote their time on earth to virtuous conduct and good works. The fat little churchman earnestly thanked God for the gift He had given to Arcium in the person of the queen. (It was later bandied about that King Dregos had reached over and actually held his wife's hand — in church, while services were going on, and right under the Patriarch's nose at that!) There was also a moving musical tribute from a choir of monks who had all entered the religious life thanks to Her Majesty's generosity, a gesture that moved the good lady to happy tears.

Once the proper obeisance to God had been made, the Arcian royal family and their court returned to the palace to rest until that afternoon's jousting. Bevier, Arda and Menina took a light meal in the sitting room of their suite, and then repaired to their respective bedchambers for a nap.

Their servants woke them some time later so they could get ready to go to the tilt-yard. The maids presented their mistresses with water to wash their faces and arms, then did their hair and helped them dress. Arda had decreed that she and Menina would wear black and white, the family colors, that day in support of their champion. Their gowns were exactly alike in design, but while Arda's gown was black, embroidered and trimmed with white, Menina's was white embroidered and trimmed with black.

Bevier was already waiting in the sitting room when the women finally emerged from their bedchamber. "Ladies," he greeted them, "your beauty takes my breath away."

His mother beamed at him. "And you look very handsome in your armor, my dear."

"Also very different," Menina blurted out, blinking at the sight of him in his silvery armor and pure white surcoat. She had seen many Church Knights of all orders in her lifetime, but none were as dazzling as Bevier was now. _Perhaps it was the light,_she thought. His raiment caught the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the sitting-room window and seemed to cast it back in an otherworldly glow. _Yes, it must be the light._

The knight blushed under her scrutiny and hitched his plumed helm more securely beneath his arm. "I believe I will take that as a compliment," he said with a faint smile.

"Have you visited the chapel yet, my son?" Arda asked him then.

"I was about to, Mother; I just wanted to see you before I left. Will you gird my sword on me when I return?"

"It would be my honor." The dowager viscountess watched her son leave the suite and dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "Seeing Bevier in his armor always brings tears to my eyes," she sighed. "His father, God rest his soul, did not look half so fine."

Menina took hold of Arda's elbow and guided her to the settee, where she could sit comfortably and await Bevier's return. "Was he a knight, too?"

"No. Destan was more of a scholar. He never carried my favor in any tournaments. But he was a brilliant man and a good husband." The older woman smiled reminiscently. "He would have been so proud of Bevier — our son is everything he himself had wanted to be."

Menina smiled back, and her eye fell on Bevier's weapons sitting nearby. The shield had been polished to a mirror shine and the rampant bull stood out in stark black upon its face, but it still looked used. There were several nicks, scratches and dents that no amount of refurbishing could hide, but these defects only enhanced the weapon's nobility…and that of its owner.

She found herself thinking that, while she wanted Prince Aventor to win so that he might honor his mother on her special day, she hoped Bevier would win as well. There could be no champion truer than one who had acquired his skill not because it amused him, but because his life depended on it.

* * *

  


It seemed that everyone in Ucera was at the tilt-yard to watch the jousting that afternoon. Because the tournament was open to the public for a fair price, a goodly number of citizens clad in workaday wool and homespun shared the stands with nobles garbed in more delicate fabrics in exotic hues.

The richest and best-connected, however, remained apart from the rest of the populace, sharing a special canopied section with the king and queen. Even though it was Her Majesty's birthday, these lords and ladies continued their posturing and jockeying for favor. They preened in their best clothes, vying with one another for the public eye, and whispered to one another how this lord had been too cowardly to enter the tournament or how that lady's horned headdress made her look more like a cow than she already did.

Despite the disparities between and within classes, however, the crowd rose and cheered as one when the festivities opened with the brassy sound of fanfare.

The spectators roared as the parade of lords began. At their head rode Prince Aventor, armored in brass-inlaid steel and wearing a blue-and-gold surcoat that matched his bay stallion's caparison and the livery of his attendants. A cloth-of-gold cape swirled majestically from his shoulders. "I suppose he plans to win the tournament by blinding his opponents," murmured Sir Lepore, who was seated in the stands with Arda and Menina. Although he was a competent knight, he had returned from Larium too late to enter his name in the lists.

"A man must capitalize on all the advantages given to him," Menina replied.

He nodded fervently and caught her hand. "Indeed he must, Mistress!"

The redheaded woman laughed and snatched her hand back. "I meant on the field, my Lord. And I'll thank you not to try such a thing with me again," she admonished playfully. "Remember you are surrounded by chaperones."

"Some chaperones," Lepore scoffed. "Two have eyes only for each other, and the third is more interested in watching the tournament than watching you."

Menina giggled and glanced at Arda, deep in conversation with Gregor, and Galema, watching raptly as her husband rode by. "Nevertheless, my guardian requested you to see to my and his mother's safety. You must not shirk your duty."

The brown-haired Cyrinic grinned flippantly at her. "And Bevier should not have set a fox to guard the hen-house."

As each participant in the tournament rode by the royal box, he saluted the King and Queen. One of his attendants then approached the box to present Queen Linde with a rich gift on his lord's behalf and deliver a witty jest or rhyme for Their Majesties' amusement.

In contrast to the pageantry of the other lords, Sir Bevier was dressed simply, and he was unattended. The Cyrinic Knights nevertheless cheered loudly for their champion, and others in the crowd quickly joined in when the knight's coal black stallion bent its forelegs in an equine bow. "What a clever trick!" the queen exclaimed.

Everyone watched as Bevier dismounted and approached the royal box himself. After bowing deeply to his sovereigns, he presented Queen Linde with a prayer book, richly bound in jewel-studded leather.  "Happy are those who take joy in the law of the Lord," he said in a quiet voice. "They are like a tree planted near streams of water that yields its fruit in season; its leaves never wither; whatever they do prospers." He gave the queen a polite smile. "On behalf of my family, Your Majesty, our felicitations on this most special day."

"Thank you, Lord Bevier," she replied, accepting the gift graciously. "I wish you good fortune in the tournament."

The moment with the queen gave everyone a chance to inspect each participant. It allowed the ladies in particular to see whether their chosen knights were carrying their favors. "Bevier does not seem to have a favor," Gregor remarked as the Cyrinic champion moved on to make room for the next participant.

"I did not hear talk of any lady offering Bevier her favor," Arda said, and sniffed derisively. "I was certain they would _deluge_him with tokens and so did not offer him__mine; but I should have known that those feckless little butterflies prefer style over substance…"

"Nevertheless," the baron noted, with an amused glance at an oblivious Menina, "he _is_riding Afreet."

* * *

  


Due to the large number of participants in the tournament, the competitors were divided into pairs, with each man seeking to earn victories for his team. A loss meant instant elimination for both the unfortunate jouster and his partner.

Bevier was teamed with the prince, a pairing that made sense to all. "The Cyrinic Knights _are_the best warriors in Arcium, after all," Lepore boasted. "My guess is that Their Majesties did not want to risk having their little boy joust against the best of the best."

"They will decimate the competition," Arda predicted with relish.

And indeed they did. Thanks to years of knightly training and practical experience on the battlefield, Bevier mowed down his challengers with a lance as surely as he would have with his Lochaber ax. He had kept his eyes open as the other lords practiced for the tournament and now used his knowledge of their weaknesses to methodically destroy the opposition. He went for the jugular right from the very start and often unhorsed his opponents on the very first pass. This apparent invincibility made him a crowd favorite, especially with the spectators who had wagered against significant odds on his victory.

Prince Aventor fought valiantly as well. To his parents' dismay and the crowd's delight, he insisted on facing all his challengers, charging them even as they conceded defeat in deference to his status, and dispatched them with almost as much ease as his partner.

"Well done, Your Highness," Bevier commended Aventor after the prince had masterfully unhorsed one of Ogelor's toadies, eliminating the unfortunate man's team from the tournament.

The prince raised his visor to smile at his partner. "Thank you, my Lord. Coming from you, that is a great compliment."

"I only speak the truth, Your Highness," the Cyrinic replied humbly. Although personally he had some problems with the prince's closer-than-proper friendship with Menina, Bevier knew that he should not allow these feelings to cloud his judgement, not if he wanted to win.

Presently, there was the ghostly sound of pipes. The teasing little trill was very familiar. _Oh, Bevier, you're such a nice boy!_Aphrael praised him playfully.

If a strange expression crossed the knight's face, Aventor did not see it, as he was busy watching his latest victim being helped off the tilt-yard. "Lord Rafale really did not want to face me," he remarked. "I thought him a skillful jouster."

"If I may be honest, Your Highness," Bevier said, "Rafale is actually not particularly skilled. 'Twas his partner who carried their team to the semi-final round." As he spoke, he returned the salute from Elias, who was following the dazed Rafale off the field. The duke had been Rafale's partner in the tournament.

"I would rather die than win by riding on someone's coat-tails," the prince declared. "Victory must be earned, else it is not a victory at all."

The knight gave his partner a small smile. "You make your sentiments well-known with your conduct on the field this day, Your Highness, and I must say, it speaks very highly of you."

Bevier then heard the faint notes of a harp and Romalic's resonant bass rumbled loudly in his mind. _You always did have a way with words, my son._

_He's not _your_son!_Aphrael said to the Bull-God. She sounded peeved.

_Neither is he yours,_Romalic replied.

_Well, he's more mine than he is yours; are you not, Bevier?_

Prudently deciding not to answer that, Bevier turned his attention to the next joust. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled when he recognized Ogelor's red-and-black surcoat on the other end of the tilt-yard. _The count's team was in the other semi-final joust._If they won, then they would face Bevier and Aventor in the final round of the tournament.

Ogelor's partner, who was representing his team in the joust, was no Lord Rafale. He faltered somewhat during the first pass, but rallied to finally defeat his opponent. Bevier, however, paid little attention to the man's technique. Ogelor was sure to joust in the final. The count's ego would not settle for anything less.

Sure enough, once his partner had unhorsed the opposing jouster, Ogelor mounted his horse and his attendants began preparations for the final joust.

Aventor saw this and stiffened. "Sir Bevier," he murmured, "would you think any less of me if I said I would prefer it if you rode in the final?"

"Not at all, Your Highness," the Cyrinic replied.

_In fact, you would prefer it yourself, would you not?_Aphrael teased. Bevier ignored her.

"I think that I am more than competent in the joust," the prince continued, "but I do not think I am good enough to defeat Count Ogelor. I would place the victory of our team above my own vanity."

"I assure you that if we do win this tournament," his partner told him, "'twill be a victory that we have earned together."

"Oh, we will win this tournament," Aventor said, glancing up into the stands. _"We must win."_

Bevier smiled tightly. He was certain that he was looking at Menina, whose bright hair made her easily visible even from their vantage point many yards away. "I will do everything in my power to make it so."

A great cheer arose from the stands when Bevier and Afreet took the field. "The people love them," Arda noted happily, clapping in delight when the black stallion reared up and pawed the air with his forelegs.

Menina laughed at her horse's dramatics. "I do hope Bevier wins," she said.

She wanted the win for many reasons. Not only did it mean that the prince would have a victory to present to his mother, it also meant that disagreeable Count Ogelor would lose. A victory would also bring honor to the family, and Afreet would enjoy the adulation. _He will be almost impossible to ride after this,_Menina thought affectionately.

She and Arda squeezed each other's hands as Bevier and Ogelor saluted each other from opposite ends of the lists. After the count lowered his visor, the competitors couched their lances, set their shields and charged.

They shattered their lances upon each other's shields during the first pass, and again during the second. Excitement rose when it became apparent that the jousters were more or less evenly matched, and all eagerly awaited the third and final pass, which would decide the champions of the tournament.

"Easy, Afreet," Bevier reminded his mount as they prepared for the last pass of the match. "It is a clear head that will win the day."

The black stallion whinnied angrily. During the first pass, Ogelor had deliberately aimed for Afreet, hoping to injure him as he had Nimbus, but Bevier had anticipated the underhanded trick and lowered his shield to deflect the blow. The count had tried again during the second pass, but Afreet managed to shift slightly without throwing his rider — and, more importantly, his rider's lance — out of position. The horse knew that the other man was trying to do him harm.

"Easy," Bevier repeated, tugging firmly on Afreet's reins to get his attention. "We have Ogelor right where we want him, but we will lose if you do not calm down."

Just as he had predicted, Afreet's unexpected appearance had the count in a panic. Bevier knew that in a fair fight, Ogelor could never hope to surpass his superior physical condition and military training. "I expect that he will aim for you again to try and unhorse me," the Cyrinic said to the stallion. "Can you avoid getting hit just like last time?"

Afreet snorted in what sounded like a scornful affirmative.

Bevier ignored the horse's attitude. "Good. That will put Ogelor out of position and leave me free to focus on unseating him." He accepted a fresh lance from a nervous attendant and rode out to his place on one end of the lists. "This is it, Afreet. If we win this joust, we win it all. You want to make Menina proud, do you not?"

The black stallion snorted. He sounded calmer now. Ogelor took his place on the other end of the lists.

"And you want to dump that count on his pompous rear, do you not?"

Afreet snorted again, louder this time.

"Then let us do it." Bevier couched his lance and set his shield. _"On, Afreet!"_

They charged. The Cyrinic's heart was pounding in time with his mount's galloping hooves, but he willed himself to focus on his ever-nearing opponent. Even as the combatants thundered toward each other at a superhuman speed, he braced his shield and waited for the perfect place and time to strike.

_CRASH._

Menina squeezed her eyes shut at the terrific sound of collision, but opened them again quickly. The minute she saw that it was a man in a black surcoat lying on the ground, she leapt to her feet and let out a most unladylike shriek of triumph.

Once she became conscious of her behavior, she looked around guiltily, but fortunately for her, many others were also on their feet and roaring their approval. Lepore stood at her side, cheering on his brother knight; and Arda and Galema were squealing like giddy young girls. The dowager viscountess had thrown her arms around Gregor, but no one except the baron paid her any mind. Even the king and queen were standing. Judging from her furious clapping, Queen Linde was going to love her son's birthday present.

The stands shook with huzzahs as Aventor and Bevier approached the royal box side by side. They knelt so that the queen could crown them with laurel wreaths of victory, and were presented with a large, perfect emerald each as their prize for winning the tournament.

Then, with everyone looking on, the prince removed his wreath and laid it at his mother's feet. "Happy birthday, Mother. I hope I brought you honor this day."

Queen Linde beamed proudly. "You did indeed, my son," she said, bestowing a kiss on his forehead.

Bevier applauded along with the crowd at the tender gesture, and then turned to look at his own mother. Arda was weeping, but her wide smile assured him that her tears were happy ones. Menina was smiling, too, but not at him.

He glanced at the prince and saw that the young man's eyes were no longer on his mother.

And he heard the harp and flute in his mind again, but this time there was an ominous overtone to their tune that sent icy fingers of dread running down his spine. _Beware,_Aphrael told him. _They are planning something._

* * *

  


The celebration of Queen Linde's birthday was capped with a splendid banquet back at the palace that evening. The excitement of the joust had whetted the courtiers' appetites, and they did justice to the lavish spread provided by the castle kitchens. The feast showcased the bounty of the sea: there were large, fresh oysters served on ice; prawns poached in wine; and whole fishes served in lemon, cream, or tomato sauces. There was duck in orange sauce; delicately flavored beef and lamb; and a whole roasted peacock with its glorious plumage restored. Lettuces braised in wine, artichokes in olive oil and asparagus and peas in butter accompanied the meat and fish courses, and to finish there were delicate cakes, jellies, and a mouthwatering array of fresh fruits that could be eaten as is or together with delicate cheeses or sweet, creamy custards.

After everyone had eaten, Master Bayhard proudly presented his much-anticipated latest masterpiece. "Menina tells me it is about the power struggle between the Sun King and the Lord of the Night," Bevier informed his companions as they found a spot with a good view of the stage, "over who has greater dominion over the day."

"Ah, the advantages of knowing someone in the cast," laughed Lepore.

"Why are _you_not in the cast, Bevier?" Maraline asked. "You are quite an actor, if I recall correctly."

Flattered that she had remembered, the black-haired Cyrinic blushed. "Well, I fear I am a bit out of practice," he replied. "I haven't been involved in any theatricals since leaving university." Actually, he _had_been given the opportunity to use his dramatic talents during the course of his travels with the Church Knights, most recently when he had posed as an outlaw on a mission to save Queen Ehlana, but perhaps that did not really count. "Besides, I was not invited to participate."

"Menina could have suggested it to the prince, or to Master Bayhard. She is friendly enough with both of them."

"Although not in the way you mean," Galema told her repressively. She clearly wanted to say more, but her husband had laid a soothing hand on her arm.

"Well, I am sure she would have if she had known of Bevier's dramatic abilities," Lepore broke in, "but she does not. He didn't tell her because he needs to uphold his image as her stodgy guardian." The brown-haired knight chuckled even as Bevier prodded him and muttered at him to shut up.

Just then, the hall torches dimmed and Sarpina let out a small squeal. _"It's starting!"_

The play began with a series of exciting sword-fights across the heavens, with the Sun King besting the Lord of the Night every time. Prince Aventor, as the Sun King, literally shone in cloth-of-gold garments in the style of ancient Arcium. (The ladies noted appreciatively that, save for a pair of high-lacing sandals, His Highness's legs were quite bare under his brief tunic.) Providing a sinister contrast was Master Bayhard himself, portraying the Lord of the Night in diamond-studded black silk.

Desperate after his numerous defeats, the Lord of the Night cast a magic spell that stopped the movement of the heavens and fixed the moon firmly in place. Deprived of the sun's nourishing warmth, every living creature in the world — played by the younger courtiers in appropriate costumes representing plants, animals and people — soon grew pale and weak. Many sought to end the endless night, but only he who cast the spell could undo it.

The Sun King enlisted the help of his lover, the Dawn, to convince his rival to break the enchantment. "Will you _look_at what she's wearing?" Maraline hissed when Menina appeared.

Like the other characters, Menina was dressed in the ancient style. Her sleeveless shift, in the pale pink and orange of the early morning sky, was blessedly longer than the garments worn by the male characters, but it clung to a body that, while sleekly muscled from athletic pursuits, was still generously curved in all the right places.

"I didn't know she was so fat," Ariyan giggled. "Her rear end is so big!"

"Oh, I don't know," Lepore remarked absently, "it looks to be just about the right size to me."

Bevier bristled as the Sun King instructed the Dawn to use her feminine wiles upon the Lord of the Night and seduce him into ending the perpetual darkness. _Mother is probably having an attack of the vapors right this minute!_Had they known that the play would promote such immoral dress and behavior, they would not have allowed Menina to participate, sign of favor or no!

"Easy, old man," Elias whispered to him then. "The veins in your forehead are ready to explode."

"This is absolutely monstrous," Bevier gritted back. One had to be blind to miss the look in Aventor's eyes whenever he looked at Menina.

"It's only playacting, Bevier. I thought you of all people would understand what it was all about."

"Well, _I've_never behaved so lewdly onstage!"

"There is nothing lewd going on," the duke pointed out as the "lovers" stroked each other's cheeks without really touching. It was the only gesture of affection acceptable on the Arcian stage. "She can't even kiss him."

Nevertheless, Bevier silently vowed to have the necklines of all of Menina's gowns raised to her chin. She would also be required to wear the voluminous black robes Cyrinics reserved for women visitors at all times for good measure. She was not to be allowed out in public without two—no, _three_chaperones!

_Why don't you just clap her in irons and lock her away in a dungeon?_Romalic suggested. Like the duke, the Bull-God of Styricum sounded amused.

"I might do just that," Bevier muttered. Anything to ensure his family's honor. Anything to shield her from lecherous eyes. Anything to keep her from ruin.

"Pardon?" Elias asked.

"Nothing."

Following her lover's instructions, the Dawn approached the Lord of the Night and beguiled him with her beauty and honeyed words. But when the Lord of the Night made to embrace her, she drew away teasingly and said she would await him in her palace. Unthinking in his lust, the Lord of the Night rose from his throne and ran after her, breaking the spell that firmly fixed his place in the heavens. It was only when he finally found the Dawn dancing across the skies, heralding the coming of the Sun King (and treating the audience to glimpses of her long, bare legs), that he realized that his rival had duped him again. The play ended with the Sun King and the Dawn graciously accepting the thanks of the earth's creatures and, once alone, pledging their undying love to each other.

Bevier was immensely relieved when the curtain finally fell. While he had to admit that the play was good in terms of plot, scenery, costumes and acting, watching it had been torture. The first chance he got, he was going to have a calm, rational talk with Menina about proper conduct and, once things between them were settled, pack her off to a nunnery.

_If you're planning to do that, you had better do it now,_Romalic advised. _That is, if you can find her._

The Cyrinic's eyes widened in alarm. _Where has she gone?_he asked, remembering to think the question rather than ask it aloud.

_Oh, not far,_Aphrael assured him. _She hasn't left the hall. But Aventor is with her._

_Good God!_"Excuse me," Bevier said to his friends, cutting short Maraline's diatribe about how _she_would have made a much better Dawn.

"Where are you going, Bevier?" the dark-haired woman asked.

"He's probably off to wrap Menina in shawls and drag her to the chapel to seek penance for her actions," Elias chuckled, but Bevier had already gone.

* * *

  


Bevier had thought that, with her bright hair and unusual costume, Menina would be easy to find, but it soon became clear that she and the prince had stolen away from the banquet. "If I were off to indulge in immoral behavior, where would I be?" he murmured.

He had no idea.

Aphrael and Romalic offered a few suggestions, but they gave it up once they realized that Bevier was not listening to them. Left to his own devices, Bevier wove his way through milling groups of people, searching for his errant ward. Once or twice he also ventured into a secluded alcove, but the presence of a busy couple often sent him right back out again. "You have to get over that embarrassment if you want to find her," he told himself as he marched on, his cheeks burning. Fortunately, he was fairly certain that none of the couples he had encountered thus far was the one he sought.

Just then, he passed an open doorway leading into a darkened side room and heard a very familiar giggle. "Menina?" Bevier blurted out, coming to a stop.

The giggling woman did not reply, but Prince Aventor emerged through the doorway a few moments later. "Sir Bevier," he greeted him with a controlled nod of his head.

Bevier bowed back. "Your Highness."

"You were looking for Menina?"

"Ah, yes, I am," he replied casually. "Have you seen her?"

A thoughtful expression crossed the prince's face and he shook his blond head. "Unfortunately, I haven't. She should be around here somewhere, however. Please excuse me."

The two men exchanged bows and the prince walked away. Judging from the tinge of annoyance that he was unable to keep from his voice and face, Aventor had not gotten very far with Menina. Breathing a sigh of relief, Bevier strode into the room. As it was lit only by the moonlight struggling in through a single, high window, it was difficult to see, but he managed to make out Menina standing near the corner of the room farthest from the doorway. "What were you doing here with the prince?" he demanded, marching toward her.

The redheaded woman knew she was in trouble, but as usual refused to back down. "If you must know," she replied, "I had promised to kiss him if he won the tournament. Thanks to you, he honored his part of the bargain, but at the same time, _I_am unable to honor mine." She sighed dramatically. "What must His Highness think of me now?"

"I doubt that his opinion of you changed much."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what he wants of you," Bevier told her, leaning closer. "And you were prepared to give it to him, were you not?"

"I was only going to kiss him."

"What if he had wanted _more_?" he hissed.

Instead of being shocked at the idea, Menina was infuriatingly blasé. "Well, I would have had to think about that," she said lightly, a small smile curving her generous mouth.

"No! You would not have thought about such things at all!"

"All that the prince and I had agreed on at present, Bevier, was a _kiss_. It was but a friendly wager, and as I am not required to keep myself chaste for a future husband, am I not entitled to have a little fun?"

_Fun?_"You're trying to ruin yourself!" he choked, scandalized.

"Only just a little," Menina admitted.

He grasped her shoulders but just managed to keep himself from giving her a good shake. "There is no 'just a little,' Menina! Either you are ruined or not at all!"

Her expression sobered and she actually began to frown. "Will you stop overreacting?" she demanded. "It was only to have been one silly little kiss, and it did not even happen."

Bevier bit back an uncharacteristic oath. This woman was driving him mad! He thought she had _finally_realized the gravity of the matter, but instead she was _scolding_him! "It had better not happen!" he sputtered. "Ever!"

"I just wanted a kiss!"

"If it's a kiss you want, then it's a kiss you shall have." And the next thing either of them knew, he had cradled her face in his hands and pressed his lips firmly against hers.

It was supposed to be a brief kiss, a punishing kiss, meant to perfunctorily satisfy Menina's silly wish, but when the shock of initial contact subsided and sensation flooded his body, Bevier discovered that he was determined to try and stop all this nonsensical sneaking around once and for all. He was going to give her a kiss to end all kisses. Never mind if the prince was most probably far more experienced than he was.

Menina stiffened in surprise at the touch of his lips, but she did not try to push him away as a respectable woman should. This initially displeased Bevier, but when she softened against him and twined her arms around his neck, pressing her warm body close, he supposed that it was all for the best.

Her mouth was warm and yielding, opening at the slightest urging. He nipped at her full lower lip and ran his tongue between her lips, tasting a heady mixture of wine and spice and woman.

As he kissed her, Bevier's hands slid from her face to caress her neck and shoulders, then slipped to her waist to pull her closer. Menina squirmed as he did so, her breath rushing hot and frantic into his mouth. He felt her move again and the next thing he knew, she had wound one long leg around his, deepening their embrace.

He groaned and backed her against the wall, his lips leaving hers to string kisses along her jaw line. Menina arched her neck and wove her fingers through his hair, egging him on. Bevier obliged, kissing his way down her throat and nuzzling the scented curve of her neck and shoulder. One hand traveled up her ribs to cover a breast, long fingers skimming over the silky swell revealed by the low neckline of her costume. She whimpered, leaning into his touch.

The small, broken sound pierced through the haze that fogged Bevier's brain. Finally realizing what he was doing, he broke away abruptly.

Menina slumped against the wall, breathing hard. By the weak moonlight he could tell that her expression was bewildered. She gazed unseeingly at him, her eyes wide and unfocused.

Bevier was horrified. What had possessed him to do such a thing? He was a beast. Lower than a beast. He was a sinner. He had just violated the sacred trust that was supposed to exist between a guardian and his ward. No wonder she was looking at him with such revulsion.

The thought of sinking so low in her regard filled him with shame. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, backing away from her and hurrying from the room.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer:** David and Leigh Eddings own Sir Bevier and his world. I only own Menina and her friends…and enemy. 

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to SweetLee, Aurelia, Lacuuna, Dagaz1, Lady Bevier, naitriab, macvgyver70, sushifatale, Joshua5, Tris the weatherwitch, Caleb Nova and Iolo for all the wonderful reviews. I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting. This chapter was dragging on too long so I decided to just cut it at a judicious point and post what I had. I hope the pacing is all right, even if this portion is a little short.

Special thanks to SoOverMarySues for giving me the impetus to push on with this story.

Chapter Eleven 

_What in God's name had he done?_

Bevier shifted uncomfortably on the hard chapel floor. His knees, shoulders and the back of his neck had all been aching for hours, but he welcomed the pain. 'Twas but poor punishment for his monstrous behavior of the night before.

He sought refuge in prayer, but his search was in vain. The worshipful words and gestures, ordinarily as familiar as breathing, had suddenly become alien to him. And blessed solace, once found in meditating on the teachings and great mysteries of the Elene faith, was elusive. It felt as though God was shunning Bevier, denying him the comforts of His wisdom and forgiveness. 

Unable to lose himself in the greatness of his God, the sinner flagellated himself instead with physical discomfort and self-recrimination. 

Menina was his ward, stepdaughter to his late and much-lamented cousin. She was supposed to be as a daughter to him, but he had not treated her as such last night. In fact, he had not treated her as a decent woman at all. True, she was a hoyden, Bevier averred, but he was honor-bound as her guardian and a knight of the Church to treat her with respect. However, instead of speaking to her calmly and rationally about the virtue of chastity, he had taken advantage of her weakness instead — _and had enjoyed it._ He had dishonored himself and wronged her gravely, and he knew not how to make amends.

"Sir Bevier?" 

The knight looked up to find Patriarch Emban standing by his side. A glance out the chapel window indicated that the sky was already rosy with the coming dawn — _don't think about the dawn!_ The fat little churchman had probably come to ready the palace chapel for morning services. "Have you been here long, my son?" Emban asked.

"I have been here all night, your Grace," Bevier answered.

The churchman's jovial smile disappeared at the anguish in the younger man's voice, to be replaced by a look of genuine concern. "Whatever is the matter?"

He flushed and bowed his head again. This was the perfect opportunity to atone for his sin, but he was hesitant to take it. Never in his lifetime did he think that he would ever have to confess to such indecent behavior. "It shames me to admit this, your Grace," he finally said in a sick voice, "but I have been indiscreet!"

"Indiscreet?" Emban repeated, clearly surprised at the confession he was now hearing from the Champion of the Cyrinic Order of Church Knights, of all people. _"You?"_

Bevier nodded jerkily. "Yes. Last night, I–I kissed a woman."

"Oh. Is that all?"

The knight raised scandalized eyes to his confessor. "I had no business kissing her, your Grace!"

The fat little churchman's eyebrows rose. "Is she married?"

"No," he said, taking consolation in the fact that he had not added cuckoldry to his growing list of transgressions. "She is neither married nor betrothed." 

"Was she willing?"

Bevier felt his cheeks burn hotter. He did not want to relive last night's embrace yet again. The memories stirred feelings within him that were yet raw and incredibly disturbing. "It matters not if she was willing. The point is that I behaved abominably."

"If she was unmarried and willing, I do not see how your behavior could have been abominable," Emban pointed out.

_"Your Grace!"_

"Sir Bevier, you are a man in your prime and the urges you feel are perfectly natural. Besides that, you were probably still exhilarated from that afternoon's joust — which, incidentally, was a jolly good show—"

"Please, your Grace," the knight interrupted, "I do not wish to make excuses. I am taking responsibility for my actions," he declared, "and I wish to atone for my sin."

"If you did not force yourself on this perfectly unattached woman and all you did was kiss her, then I would say that you did not sin," the fat little churchman told him.

_"But I have indeed sinned!"_ Bevier insisted, the anguish re-entering his voice. "I have committed a grievous wrong, and I wish to do penance!" He started when what appeared to be the perfect solution came to him. "Would you admit me into your service, your Grace? Penitents enter religious service all the time — Patriarch Bergsten of Emsat has such a man working for him, a Pelosian trying to atone for the murder of his employer's sister."

Emban looked surprised. "Well, that was murder. All you did was kiss someone."

"A sin is a sin, your Grace," the knight replied gravely. "Furthermore, it has always been my plan to leave the Cyrinic Order and enter the priesthood. Now is as good a time as any."

To his dismay, the fat little churchman shook his head. "Your devotion is to be commended, my son," he said, "but I cannot grant you the absolution that you seek. There are other, better ways through which you can make amends."

"But, your Grace—"

"Your qualifications for the priesthood are beyond question, but it is clear that you are still very much susceptible to earthly temptations. Now, granted, we all have our vices," Emban continued, patting his considerable paunch with a smile, "but this attraction to the fair sex is something you must definitely overcome if you are to be able to devote yourself, body _and_ soul, to our Holy Mother Church."

Bevier sighed, crestfallen. "Yes, your Grace," he said. Although he begged to differ, he had also been trained to follow orders, especially those coming from the clergy. "Would you—would you please tell me how I might atone for my sin?"

"Don't worry; you'll think of something."

* * *

"That was close," Aphrael told Romalic as they sat in the white marble palace on that unearthly plane, listening to Bevier make his confession to the Patriarch of Ucera.

"Emban would not have allowed Bevier to enter his service under those circumstances," he replied.

The Child-Goddess turned to him, her dark hair waving softly with the warm, scented breeze coming up off the beach. "How are you so sure?"

"Well, Emban's not stupid," the Bull-God of Styricum pointed out. "Bevier was obviously distraught and that's not the sort of decision you make when you're upset."

"He's been planning to take religious vows for years now."

Romalic watched his sister-goddess coax a pure white tiger to her side with a tidbit from the dish that sat between them. "But in all that time, he never went ahead and did it."

"He's been busy helping save the world."

"If becoming an Elene priest was so important to him, he would have found the time to enter a monastery. He had enough opportunity after Azash was killed." He helped himself to a sweet, willed the stickiness from his fingers, and then conjured up his harp. "I think that deep down, Bevier knows he is not destined for the Church."

"He's still insisting on it, though," Aphrael said, "and once that boy has an idea in his head…"

Romalic bent his head over his harp and began to coax a tune out of it. "What if I told him that his God would approve of a union between him and Menina?"

She shook her head. "No, Romalic, that will only confuse him further."

"Hmmm…" The Bull-God pondered it for a minute, and then finally nodded his agreement. "You're right, he's got enough on his mind. Let us allow him to come up with the idea himself."

"And the Elene God's such a dried-up old stick that Bevier wouldn't believe it, anyway."

"Be nice, Aphrael." 

* * *

The talk with Patriarch Emban helped somewhat, but it was nevertheless not enough to soothe Bevier's troubled spirit.

The churchman did not give him a quick solution to his problem by allowing him to enter religious service; instead, Bevier now had the difficult task of overcoming his unwholesome attraction to his ward in order to prove himself fit for religious vows.

_It will not be so bad,_ he told himself as he stared unseeingly at a page in _An Elene's Search for God_. He was a Church Knight. He knew what quests were like, be they physical or spiritual. They seemed insurmountable at the beginning, but one could triumph in the end if he had faith. All he had to do to prevail in this quest was to preserve his current attitude of self-denial and avoid all temptation. 

_Henceforth,_ Bevier vowed, _I will keep my distance from Menina._ _I will not touch, talk to or even look at her unless it is absolutely necessary. _

He would atone for his sin by fulfilling his duties as her guardian to the letter, and this was possible even from a distance. He only had to be in the same room to ensure that she was behaving herself; and if he was unable to keep a physical eye on her, there were others — his mother, the family servants, and two beings he was not supposed to acknowledge — who could help. 

And woe to any man who dared to offend Menina in any way: besides being more than just competent in combat, Bevier would also use his training in the Styric secrets to safeguard his ward's virtue. If a transgressor refused to meet him on the field of honor, he would simply turn that unfortunate man into a toad. He did not know how to perform such a spell as yet, but perhaps the Cyrinics' instructor in the secrets did. If not, then surely Lady Sephrenia, the Pandions' former instructor and High Priestess of Aphrael, would. Bevier decided he would write to her immediately.

"Bevier?"

He jumped at the sound of his name, almost dropping his book, and turned his head to see Menina standing nearby in very much the same way as on the day that she had lent him Afreet for the tournament. _Don't think about the tournament,_ he told himself, training his eyes on his book. _More importantly, don't think about what happened after the tournament._ "Yes?" he finally inquired politely.

Menina studied his bent head in dismay. Just as she had feared, he was displeased with her. As well he should be, but after what had happened between them last night, she had been hoping… "I was wondering if you were done reading _The Tragedy of Artos and Amalthea_," she said, trying to inject some lightness in her voice. "I was hoping I would be able to borrow it—"

"Yes, yes, I am finished with it," Bevier said quickly, scooping up the red-covered volume from the table at his elbow and holding it out in her general direction. He had not _really_ interrupted her in mid-sentence, he thought when his conscience pricked him over his display of poor manners; she _had_ been able to complete her request, had she not?

"Was it good?" Menina asked as she took the book from him.

He nodded, still not looking at her. "Yes, it was very enjoyable." Actually, Bevier had yet to read it, but he was willing to make the small sacrifice to get her out of his way. "Do you require anything else?"

She stared at his blue-black hair and the bold curve of his ear. He was clearly dismissing her, but she did not want to go just yet. "Ah, you were—you were absent from morning services. Your mother and I could not help but notice."

Bevier nodded, his eyes still refusing to meet hers. "I had retired very late last night," he answered. "But I went to chapel before I did so and managed to obtain absolution from Patriarch Emban in advance."

Menina ventured a laugh, hoping to humor him out of his ill mood. "What foresight." _Please look at me,_ she wished silently. _Please smile at me. I need to know that you do not hate me._

He did not laugh. He did not even look at her. "Thank you."

Her smile faded. For a brief moment, she was sorely tempted to snatch the book out of Bevier's hand and hit him around the head with it, but that was hardly the best way to make amends. 

Perhaps she would approach him again later, when he was in a better frame of mind. In the meantime, Menina decided to carry on as if everything was all right. She did not want Arda to worry. "Well, ah," she finally said, "I suppose I should go. Excuse me."

"All right."

* * *

The previous night's debacle did not seem to have ruined Menina's friendship with the prince, Bevier noted as he watched the pair romp through a lively tourdion at banquet that evening. It was obvious that they were finally able to settle their wager, even though it did not proceed as originally planned.

The thought almost sent a little pang through his heart, but Bevier squelched it determinedly. Patriarch Emban had tasked him to overcome his attraction to women and he was going to do it. He was going to prove himself fit for the religious life, even if it killed him.

Presently, a musical female voice broke into his reverie. "Why do you look so grim, Sir Knight?"

Bevier turned to see Maraline at his side, surveying him with some amusement. "Your pardon, my Lady," he replied. "I was merely watching my ward — and ensuring her good behavior," he added.

"A monumental task," the lady remarked with a wry little smile.

"Indeed," he agreed, smiling in spite of himself. This was not a weakening of his resolve, he thought. How could one not be amused at Maraline's gaiety and wit?

It was then that Bevier realized that the lady by his side could be the answer to his problems. He had always found Maraline attractive, and he supposed that if he kept company with her, then he could gradually develop immunity to feminine charms. The answer lay not in avoidance, but in building resistance. He would be building a fortress around his heart, so to speak, and his mind, and his—well, he would be building a fortress around _himself_, to defend against sieges to his soul.

And it was working already, he thought happily. She had smiled and spoken to him, but he was not feeling a thing! _Thank you, my Lord and my God, for giving me this chance to prove myself worthy to serve You!_

"But I suppose she can look after herself for a while," Bevier said then. "Would you partner me in this next dance, my Lady?" He was confident that, even if he touched her and danced with her, it would not have the slightest effect on him.

Maraline's face lit up and her lips curved in a smile. They were beautiful lips, pink and full, but Bevier was elated to discover that he did not react to them as he once had. "I would be honored, my Lord," she replied, taking the arm he offered her.

They exchanged smiles as he escorted her toward the dancers. _Maraline is such a wonderful, helpful person,_ Bevier thought. _If I weren't swearing off women forever, I would have fallen in love with her._


	12. Chapter Eleven, Part 2

**Disclaimer:** Sir Bevier and the kingdom of Arcium belong to David and Leigh Eddings. Everyone and everything else is mine. Oh, yes, they are. 

**Technical Notes:** _Hem, hem._ (Oops, wrong fandom! Ah, well…) To anyone who still cannot get it, this story is based on the following fundamental identity: _Impulsive nature _plus_ Arcian tendency to be high-strung _plus_ normal male hormones _plus_ crazy woman turning everything upside down = possibility of strange, even out-of-character things happening._ Thank you.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to rootless californian, sushifatale, SweetLee, Caleb Nova, Cariad, Dagaz1, Lady Bevier, Iona, Inari, Aurelia, Gea, Tris the weatherwitch and Iolo (thanks to you, I'm now trying to figure out how to stick Setras in this story!) for the great feedback. Hope you enjoy this chapter, which is dedicated to Maryonne and Danielle. Reviews make great birthday gifts! ;)

_Reposted 6-10-04 because refuses to display characters! I hope the story breaks are visible this time :(_

_Chapter Eleven, Part 2_

Maraline's smug smile did not make sense to Menina that first night, but when it became a customary fixture on the dark-haired woman's face and Bevier a customary fixture on her arm, she began to realize that something strange was afoot.

"I had the most _wonderful_ time at banquet last night," Maraline boasted to the other ladies at Countess Ileana's salon one afternoon. "Who knew that Sir Bevier was as good a dancer as he is a knight?"

"Quite a few of us already know that," Galema told her. "He _has_ danced a few times since arriving at court. And Menina, of course, would know," the duchess added, turning to the redheaded young woman. "He helped you learn to dance while you were at Catalum, did he not?"

"Well, he has danced with _me_ the most times," Maraline said, selecting a sugared almond from the dish at her elbow. "Therefore, I am in the best position to judge whether he is a good dancer or not."

That was not true, Menina thought. _She_ had danced with Bevier countless times in practice, certainly more than he had danced with Maraline over their entire stay at court.

_What a strange thing to think about._

Galema rolled her eyes impatiently. "Why are we talking about Sir Bevier, anyway?"

"That's right," Ileana remarked, looking quite displeased at the turn the conversation had taken. "He is a good man, but that is all. You must admit he is rather boring."

"Oh, no, my dear," Maraline assured their hostess, "he is not boring at all."

Menina stared hard at the scrolling pattern embroidered on her sleeve, willing herself to remain calm. _Maraline has not said anything improper,_ she told herself. _And as much as I hate to admit it, I must agree with her. _

"No, he is not boring at all!" Sarpina chimed in. "We all know he is the paramount knight in the land, and besides that, he is well-versed in the art of conversation!"

"War and conversation are not the only things in which he is well-versed," Maraline told her friend in a silky voice.

_WHAT?_

Most of the ladies in attendance gasped. Menina's back stiffened and she looked up into the malicious glimmer in the marchioness's eyes. Anger began to simmer inside her, and only Galema's gentle tug on her sleeve prevented Menina from seizing a nearby wine decanter and breaking it over the dark-haired woman's head.

"Of course, by that I mean that he is also well-versed in the theatrical arts," Maraline continued innocently, "as well as in philosophy and theology. He is much more than just a sword-wielding bully boy with nothing but empty air between his ears."

That did it. _An ax,_ Menina thought. _He wields an ax. _

She supposed she should have taken comfort in the fact that Maraline did not know about Bevier's preference for the ax. It was a sign that Maraline was not as friendly with Bevier as she wanted everyone to believe. But Menina just could not stand to listen to the woman go on about him any longer. She rose to her feet.

Maraline saw her stand up and interrupted her own recounting of her evening with Bevier to give the redheaded woman a honeyed look of concern. "Leaving so soon, Mistress Menina?"

She was spared from having to answer when Ileana herself jumped to her feet, her dark-gold curls bobbing in agitation. "Mistress Menina, you cannot be leaving _already_?"

Menina gratefully shifted her attention from Maraline to her hostess. Many of the court ladies tolerated her because of her friendship with Prince Aventor, but Ileana was one of those who were truly friendly. "I fear I must, my Lady," she answered. "Although I am enjoying myself immensely, I fear that the Lady Arda may have need of me." 'Twas not exactly true, as the dowager viscountess continued to enjoy excellent health and had maids to attend her, but Menina would rather die than admit that Maraline's prattle about Bevier was making her ill.

"Oh, of course," Ileana said, mollified. "I am sorry that you have to go, but I understand that one must not shirk one's duty. Will you come back next time?" she asked. "And will you remember me to the viscountess?"

"The answer is 'most certainly' to both questions," the redheaded young woman replied with a smile.

Galema touched Menina's arm before she was about to leave. _Are you all right?_ the duchess's expression seemed to ask.

She smiled and nodded at her. "I am fine," she murmured. "I shall see you at banquet tonight." Turning to the rest of the room, she bobbed a curtsy. "Ladies, I bid you good day."

- - -

Although she would have preferred to just take a tray in her room that evening, Menina knew it would not do to miss banquet. She did not want any of the women at the salon to think that something was wrong. She especially did not want Maraline to think that her malicious innuendoes had affected Menina in any way, which was apparently what the dark-haired woman wanted.

Like a warrior girding for battle, Menina dressed with special care that evening. She chose to wear a gown of heavy cream brocade trimmed with gold. The cut was slim to accentuate her height, and the bodice low in keeping with the fashion. The cream brocade sleeves were slashed to the elbow to display narrow cloth-of-gold undersleeves that ended in points on the backs of her hands. In order to keep from detracting from the elaborateness of her gown, her hair was pulled back from her face, secured only with a few silk roses, and left to tumble to her waist in a simple, unrestrained style.

The result of her efforts helped improve her spirits, but only marginally. She knew she looked good, but Bevier barely looked at her. "Oh, Menina, don't you look lovely!" Arda had exclaimed when she appeared in the sitting room after getting dressed. "I knew that necklace was the perfect finishing touch."

"You were right as usual, my Lady," Menina replied, touching the gold-and-pearl lavaliere the dowager viscountess had lent her for the evening. "Thank you for lending it to me."

"You are most welcome, my dear." The older woman smiled at her fondly, and then tapped her son's arm. "Bevier, doesn't Menina look nice this evening?"

Menina pasted what she hoped was a winsome smile on her face, but he only gave her the briefest of glances. "Yes, Mother, she does."

"You barely even looked!" Arda told him.

"I looked enough to know that she looks nice, Mother, the way she always does. Shall we go?" There was a note of impatience in the invitation. "I agreed to meet my friends before the dining started."

_I'm sure you agreed to meet one friend in particular,_ Menina thought rebelliously. Indeed, once they arrived at the banquet hall, Bevier left her and his mother with the waiting Gregor and went straight to Maraline's side.

Menina glared at his retreating back. She hoped that the high-collared black doublet he was wearing that evening would make him sweat excessively on this warm, humid evening. 'Twas wicked to wish for such a thing, but Bevier needed to have some of the starch soaked out of him, anyway.

A giggle escaped her at the thought and she looked around to see whether anyone had seen her laugh out loud for no reason. As she did so, her gaze fell on Arda, who was chatting gaily nearby with the baron and some of her friends. At that point, she privately resolved not to let her feelings about Bevier and Maraline spoil the evening. The dowager viscountess was having such a nice time. Menina did not want to worry her by pouting just because Bevier was ignoring her.

_His behavior is quite understandable, really,_ she told herself. Something happened that should not have happened, and he was not going to act as he had before because he did not want to risk having events repeat themselves.

(She found herself wishing that they would, though. She had to admit that the kiss had been very nice.)

_Does he want such things to happen with Maraline?_ she wondered. _Why her?_ Maraline was beautiful, a noblewoman and had impeccable manners — when it suited her — but she was also married. It would be hypocritical of Bevier to profess to be God's loyal soldier while carrying on with a married woman, and Menina knew that Bevier was no hypocrite.

_Oh, why must men be so confusing?_

"You are beautiful when you are angry," someone remarked just then, startling Menina out of her reverie.

She saw Count Ogelor standing by her side and realized that she had been scowling. Quickly, she smoothed her features into a more pleasant mask. "Good evening, my Lord. I apologize for my unpleasant expression earlier. I was…quite deep in thought."

"There is naught to apologize for, Mistress. As I said, you are beautiful when you are angry."

"My Lord is too kind."

"Not kind," he replied easily, "just honest."

Just then, a flash of dark blue caught Menina's eye and she saw Gregor escorting Arda to the banquet tables. Other couples were also drifting past them on their way to their seats. "Oh; banquet is about to begin," she remarked.

"So it is," Ogelor agreed, and then offered her his arm. "May I partner you tonight, Mistress?"

"Ah…" The redheaded woman took a small step back, fumbling for words. Although she had wished Bevier ill that evening, Menina was not going to be so petty as to seek revenge by keeping company with his greatest enemy. With the way her luck was going, Bevier would probably not notice at all and she would have spent the evening with an extremely unpleasant — and also married — man for nothing.

Perhaps she could refuse without bruising his ego. "You do me much honor, my Lord, but I fear I am not fit company this evening. I do not wish to inflict my ill humor on you." She wished that she could lay the blame on female trouble, but knew that it was not seemly to mention such things in mixed company.

He shrugged. "I would not mind your ill humor, Mistress."

All right, perhaps she should have mentioned the female trouble after all. "'Twould be most unfair, my Lord, to saddle you with such an unworthy companion."

"Whoever said life was fair, Mistress?"

Menina dredged up a smile. "You are very witty, my Lord." _And also very annoying._ "But I still fear I must refuse. It would not be right."

Ogelor withdrew his arm and smiled. Again, there was a touch of strain in his expression. "Well, then, perhaps you will honor me with your company another time, when you are so inclined."

"Perhaps," she replied. She met the man's bow with a curtsy and watched him stalk away.

"That was an intelligent thing to do, divinity," Lepore remarked as he appeared at her side. "Bevier would not have liked to see you with Ogelor."

The brown-haired knight had apparently overheard her conversation with the count. Perhaps he had even eavesdropped on purpose. It did not matter. Menina was more indignant over the mention of her aggravating guardian-of-sorts than over this invasive behavior. "This has nothing to do with Bevier," she told Lepore somewhat tartly.

"They why did you refuse Ogelor?" he asked as he tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.

The action did not go unnoticed, but the redheaded woman made no protest. Sir Lepore was a far more acceptable and pleasant escort than that unsavory count. "I just do not like the man," she answered with a shrug.

But her morose mumble was not lost on Lepore. "It sounds as though there is more to it than that."

"There is nothing more to it than that," Menina said, glancing away as they began to walk toward the banquet tables, where that evening's feast awaited. "I do not like him, and am in no mood to pretend otherwise."

"You are in a poor mood, then?"

"A bit," she admitted.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I fear not, my Lord," she replied with a small smile, "but it was kind of you to ask."

"Are you certain? I'm a Church Knight, you know — I can slay your dragons, pay your debts, have your enemies assassinated…It's all in my job description."

She laughed, momentarily humored out of her bad mood. "Well, my Lord, I am happy to tell you that I am not plagued by dragons, debts or enemies that merit assassination," she told him.

"But you do have enemies," Lepore noted, peering closely at her.

Menina waved away his observation. "Everyone has them," she said. "In my case, they are those who dislike me for who I am. And as I cannot help being a commoner and a Rendor, those people are not worth further thought."

"Then why are you in a poor mood?"

She shrugged as they found seats quite close to where Gregor, Arda and their friends were sitting. "I think I am merely suffering a touch of melancholy, the way people are wont to do in stories. Pray do not concern yourself about it any further, my Lord. This should pass in due time."

- - -

But it did not. The days wore on without any change in Bevier's behavior. On the other hand, there was a marked worsening of Maraline's own conduct.

By now it was obvious that dark-haired marchioness and the Cyrinic Champion were keeping company, and all sorts of rumors were spreading throughout court. Some of the stories ultimately reached Arda's ears, and she wasted no time in seeking confirmation with her son. Menina was present at the time and, to her great relief, Bevier staunchly insisted that he and Maraline were only good friends. "She is married, Mother!"

"So?" his mother retorted. "Adultery exists, Bevier, even in Arcium. In fact, if gossip is to be believed, some of those who boast the loudest about their perfect marriages are actually the worst offenders."

"But _I_ would never be party to such a relationship! I am the Cyrinic Champion, devoted to God and my King, and sworn to a life of celibacy!"

"Then why do you go about in public with that woman?" Menina could tell from the distaste in Arda's voice that the dowager viscountess was no longer impressed with the flower of the court.

"Because we are friends! Can't a man and woman just be friends?"

_Obviously, _we_ cannot,_ Menina thought, as she composed a short note thanking Prince Aventor for the camellias he had sent that day.

"Mother," Bevier continued, "have I done anything to make you or anyone else think that I am committing such a sin?"

"Not at all, my son," she assured him. "Your conduct in public remains above reproach. But you know how gossipmongers tend to ignore that fact. And although they are lying, it still hurts me to hear them say such nasty things about you."

"I am sorry that this is affecting you so, Mother. Rest assured that I will seek to put a stop to those ugly rumors. Perhaps the gossip will stop out of consideration for your feelings."

Menina sincerely doubted that, because while Bevier was openly denying the allegations, Maraline was doing nothing to quell them. "He really is the most amazing man," the marchioness sighed luxuriantly at yet another salon one lazy afternoon.

"We know," Galema replied in a bored singsong.

"All he has to do is touch me and I melt."

"He would never touch you!" Menina blurted out before she could stop herself. Maraline's friends tittered at her outburst and she flushed, abashed.

"Oh, but he _has_, my dear," Maraline told her, dark eyes artlessly wide. "Many, many times."

The redheaded woman's heart sank at the smugness in her words.

"How else can Bevier partner me in dancing or escort me to banquet?" Maraline went on. "He has to hold my hand or my arm and that constitutes _touching_, does it not?"

"Very funny, Maraline," Galema told her as Maraline's friends laughed again, amused at their leader's cleverness.

"Why do you sound so put out with me, Galema?" the dark-haired woman asked, feigned hurt in her voice. "I was just telling you all what a wonderful man Sir Bevier is. I cannot help if _others in this room_ harbor impure thoughts."

Maraline looked at Menina as she spoke and Menina met her antagonist's gaze squarely. "I would not cast stones so quickly, my Lady," she retorted. "Your own thoughts must not be so pure for you to speak of innocent things in such an offensive manner." This time, it was Galema's turn to laugh and Maraline began to sputter, groping for an answer.

At this point, that afternoon's hostess entered the fray. "Ladies, ladies, please!" exclaimed Countess Arinell, hoisting herself out of her chair and huffing and puffing her way to the center of the room. "This is hardly the way for noblewomen to behave!"

By now, Maraline had recovered enough to cast a fresh barb. "Oh, _I_ know that, my dear Arinell," she said smoothly. "_I_ am a noblewoman, after all."

The plump countess rounded on Menina. Unfortunately for the redheaded woman, Arinell was one of those who merely tolerated her presence, and it was obvious from her stony expression that Menina had worn out her welcome. "I am sorry, Mistress, but I fear I must ask you to leave."

"Arinell!" Galema protested.

Menina laid a hand on her friend's sleeve. "'Tis all right, my Lady," she assured the duchess. "I respect the Lady Arinell's position on the matter."

All eyes were on her as she rose to her feet. Once standing, she drew herself up to her full height and nodded down her nose at her hostess and to the other ladies in attendance. "My Ladies, I give you good day."

Menina turned to the door in an impressive swirl of skirts and intended to sail right out of the room with her head held high, but she could not resist addressing Maraline directly before she left. "Kindly refrain from playing these ridiculous games with my family's reputation, my Lady," she told the dark-haired woman in a low voice. "If you do, I will hear about it, and I will call you out."

Maraline laughed. "First, _Mistress_ Menina," she drawled, "you have no family; and second, only lords are allowed to duel."

"First, _Maraline_," Menina replied, deliberately omitting her antagonist's title and sliding her tongue over the other woman's given name as if it were the most vile of curses, "Lord Bevier and his mother _are_ my family; and second, I do not care a whit if dueling is only for lords. I _will_ call you out if I must, and we _will_ fight. I do not pretend to be proficient with any sort of weaponry," she went on in a more conversational tone, "but in my work with difficult animals, I have always had good results with a stout stick."

An angry pink flush spread over Maraline's porcelain skin. "I am not a common mare to be treated in such a manner!"

"Really?" Menina looked her over coolly. "I see no difference."

With one last small smile, the redheaded woman turned away and made her exit. As she left, she heard Maraline announce, "If word of this leaves this room, there will be consequences!"

Menina had closed the door and gone a short distance down the corridor when she heard footsteps. A glance over her shoulder told her that Galema had followed her out of the room. "You have made a very dangerous enemy, Menina," the duchess warned. "Maraline may be ordering everyone to keep the incident quiet, but you can be certain that she will try to get her revenge on you in some other way."

"Let her try," the redheaded woman replied. "I can withstand whatever she throws at me. I meant what I said, Galema; if she does not cease speaking of Bevier in such a fashion, I _will_ call her out."

"She appears disinclined to accept."

"Well, then, if she does not choose to fight, then she must apologize." She laughed briefly. "And I doubt that she will do _that_."

Galema made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a gasp for breath. Menina slowed her pace to accommodate her friend's shorter stride. She had not realized that she was walking so fast. "Galema?" she asked after a while.

"Yes?" The duchess sounded less winded now.

"Would you be one of my seconds if I ever do challenge Maraline and she accepts?" The duelists in romance novels always had seconds — two of them. If Galema accepted, Menina would have one second; perhaps she could ask Arda to serve as the other. The dowager viscountess was bound to be shocked, but would be just as likely to accept once she understood that it was a matter of family honor.

"O–of course."

"Thank you." With that settled, Menina smiled and continued down the corridor, failing to see the look of uncertainty that crossed her friend's face.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Disclaimer: ** The Eddingsverse belongs to — duh — David & Leigh Eddings. The trespassers belong to yours truly. 

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to chibi yin, shallindra, Gea (thanks for coming to my defense on that ax/axe thing!), Lady Bevier (it's spelled "ax" in the Eddings books), sushifatale, Caleb Nova, Dagon ng Likha (are you Filipino?), Tris the weatherwitch, Iolo and Jamie for the reviews. They helped me greatly in my battle with writer's block.

_Chapter Twelve _

"Well, this is a fine kettle of fish," Romalic remarked as he and Aphrael observed the comings and goings of the world from the Child-Goddess's white marble palace.

"Romalic, that's a dreadful expression," his sister-goddess chided him. The large white tiger she had been petting raised its head from her lap and blinked at the Bull-God, as if in support of its mistress's rebuke. "I think you've been around the grooms and stable boys too long."

"Perhaps I have." He shrugged his broad shoulders as a Thalesian fisherman danced for joy over the birth of a grandson. "But it's not so bad once you get used to it. They're good and simple men. I believe they appeal to me just as your Church Knights do to you."

"They _are_ a bunch of children, are they not?" she asked with a mischievous smile.

"My grooms and stable boys seem a far sight more self-sufficient than your Church Knights, though," Romalic chuckled. "Anyway, as I was saying, this situation with Bevier has taken quite an interesting direction."

Aphrael's smile deteriorated into a disgruntled expression. "He's doing something incredibly stupid, taking up with that woman."

"He hasn't taken up with her. Nothing untoward is happening."

"But _still_. It doesn't make sense."

"He's just dealing with his situation in the best way he knows how," her brother-god explained, clearly bent on defending one of "his" Cyrinic Knights. He may have disparaged the Church Knights just moments before, but the Cyrinics were still affiliated with him, in a manner of speaking. "Bevier thinks that keeping company with Maraline will help him build up a resistance to the temptation that Menina poses to him."

"As I said, it doesn't make sense." The Child-Goddess made a noise in her throat that caused the white tiger to raise its head again and look around warily. "I knew we shouldn't have given those humans free will."

"Now, Aphrael…"

"Maybe I should just stick him in a monastery and have done with it."

Romalic smiled fondly even as he rolled his eyes. There was no living with his sister-goddess when she was in one of her moods. "You don't want that."

"Well, if he's going to repay our efforts in finding him a woman by _ignoring_ her…"

"He isn't ignoring her, he's just keeping his distance. There's a difference."

Aphrael rounded on him, tearing her gaze away from Queen Ehlana of Elenia going over her social schedule. "Will you stop defending him?" she demanded.

"Someone has to."

"But it's so _annoying_."

"Instead of wasting your time being annoyed, why don't you try to think of ways to solve the problem?" the Bull-God pointed out. "How can Menina regain Bevier's attention?"

"She will not do it by acting like a proper young lady, that is for certain," Aphrael said. "He will continue to ignore her if he is secure in the knowledge that she is behaving herself. Thus it follows that she should _mis_-behave."

"You sound like the Elene God."

"He doesn't have a monopoly on logic."

A chuckle rumbled out of Romalic. "All right, then, Menina should misbehave. But what sort of misbehavior are we looking for?" He watched an Atan being born — this one looked like it would grow up to finally surpass ten feet — and then sat up as an idea occurred to him. "I've got it! How about a riding accident? She could fall off Afreet while performing a difficult trick. As her self-appointed guardian, Bevier would feel duty-bound to remain at her bedside until she makes a full recovery."

This time, it was Aphrael's turn to roll her eyes. Her brother-god's flair for the dramatic could get out of hand sometimes. "That's preposterous, Romalic. What if Menina gets killed?"

"She will not get killed," he assured her. "I will make sure of that."

"And what if it kills _Bevier's mother_? She has grown quite attached to Menina, you know."

The Bull-God fell silent. He had to admit that he hadn't considered that aspect of the situation. "Well," he ventured after several moments' thought, "what if we just translocate Menina into Bevier's bed one night? That won't kill his mother."

"The shock might do _him_ in, though."

"Stop being such a wet-blanket, Aphrael."

"Stop making such ridiculous suggestions."

"How is Menina going to catch his attention if nothing _interesting_ happens?" Romalic sighed heavily. "And what do you propose? That she take up with another man to make him jealous?"

"Well, the idea has possibilities. There are already a number of potential 'other men' in the picture."

"Yes, but that's such a cliché. What if she and Maraline really have a duel?"

The Child-Goddess groaned. "Romalic, we can't do that."

"Why not? It'll be fun to watch Menina pound that minx into the ground."

"Yes, but—_oh._"

"Oh, what?"

"We may not have to go that far." A smile dawned on Aphrael's small face as she pointed toward where a slender woman was deep in conversation with a stocky, brown-haired knight. "In fact, we may not have to do anything at all. It seems that things have already been set in motion for us."

Romalic saw what she was pointing at and smiled as well. "Free will is such a handy thing, is it not?"

- - -

The Arcian weather had become quite unbearable now that it was the height of summer. To escape the heat, people stopped going out when the sun was high. Those who could afford it hied off to their summer estates in the mountains or by the sea, where the air was much cooler. Those who were left behind sought refuge in the shade of awnings, trees and the interiors of stone houses and lazed the afternoon away. Others had to find other ways to cool off.

"Is something the matter with Menina?" Lepore asked Bevier. It was another sweltering afternoon, and the two Cyrinics were just finishing a swim in the chapterhouse's bathing pool. "She has been in low spirits as of late."

"Really?" Bevier hoisted himself out of the water and walked over to where he had left his towel. "I hadn't noticed."

_"You hadn't noticed?"_ Lepore repeated, flipping his wet hair out of his eyes to look incredulously at his brother-knight. "You're supposed to be her guardian, old man. It's your duty to notice these things."

He busied himself with drying off his streaming limbs. "Well, she has not come seeking my help."

"Perhaps she feels that she cannot come to you."

"And why not?" Bevier demanded, straightening. His still-wet hair was dripping on his freshly dried shoulders, but he did not care. "Why do you say that?"

The brown-haired knight shrugged, lifted himself out of the pool and grabbed his own towel. "Well, you _have_ been busy squiring Maraline around court."

"What does that have to do with my duties as Menina's guardian?"

"It's common knowledge that she and Maraline do not get along. Perhaps Menina does not want to talk to you because she feels that you are fraternizing with the enemy."

"She and Maraline do not get along?" Bevier repeated. That was news to him.

"No, they do not. Where have you been, old man?" Lepore made a face and pulled on a robe of unbleached linen. "Wait. Do not answer that. I would rather not know."

"I have not been anywhere I would be ashamed to tell you," he said crisply as he drew on his own robe. "Now, what is this about Menina and Maraline? They dislike each other?"

"Quite thoroughly, it seems." The other knight paused for a moment, and then spoke. "In fact, I heard from a concerned party — who shall remain nameless — that Menina recently threatened to call out Maraline."

"She _WHAT_?" Bevier's voice bounced off the tiled walls of the room that housed the indoor bathing pool.

"You heard what I said."

"Is the story all over court?"

To Bevier's great relief, Lepore shook his head. "The lady who informed me was very discreet," he said, "and I have not heard the story from anyone else. It seems that the matter is supposed to be kept hushed up."

"I can't believe Menina would do that! …No, I can believe it," he amended. "The question is — _why?_"

This was what Bevier sought to find out when he confronted her back at the palace that very evening. "I was informed that you recently threatened to call out Lady Maraline," he said without preamble when he found her alone in the sitting room of the family suite. "Is this true?"

She closed her book and looked up at him with a calm expression. "Yes."

"Is that all you can say?" he asked, standing over her with his arms akimbo in a bid to intimidate his recalcitrant ward of sorts.

It did not work. "That is all I need to say," she answered coolly. "All you asked me was whether or not it was true. What other response is necessary?"

"How about—" Just then, Bevier realized that his superior position also offered a view down Menina's bodice. Flushing red, he quickly sat down in a nearby chair. "How about explaining to me just what was going through your mind when you were doing such a thing?"

"What was going through my mind?" she repeated. Her full mouth quirked in a smile. "Are you certain you want to know?"

"Of course I want to know!"

"Well, I was telling myself to remain calm and not lose control."

Bevier groaned. He should have known from the look on her face that he was not going to like the answer she gave him._ "Threatening a lady is remaining calm and not losing control?"_

"What I _really_ wanted to do was have at her with a stick…preferably one with a nail sticking through the end," she added.

_"Menina!"_ he exclaimed, exasperated.

"Sshhh!" she hissed, scowling at him. "Your mother is taking a nap!"

He lowered his voice accordingly so that he could continue lecturing her. "Do you know what sort of scandal this may cause if the rest of the court found out?"

She inspected her fingernails, purposely trying to aggravate him further. "People have been discreet thus far."

"What if they were not?"

"Well, I just _threatened_ to call her out; I didn't actually _do_ it. There's a difference."

"Nevertheless, you behaved abominably! How could you do that to Maraline? She is a lady, not a—a common fishwife, as well as a very good friend of mine! You have brought shame upon this family!"

Menina stiffened. _He barely talks to me, and when he does, it is to yell at me and take _her_ side!_ Unable to bear it any longer, she leapt to her feet and strode over to stand before his chair. "Stop acting as though I am the guilty party," she bit out in a low voice. She would have preferred to shout, but she did not want to wake Arda. Besides, ladies did not raise their voices. "You do not know what happened that afternoon."

"I know enough."

_"Do you?"_ She planted her hands on her hips and leaned down so that they were face to face. Fighting temptation, Bevier resolutely kept his eyes on her face, but this proved to be a grave error because Menina looked outraged. "Do you know why I threatened to challenge her?" she demanded.

"No, it seems you think that I did so just because I am an ignorant, uncivilized Rendor," she went on when he proved unable to answer. "It never occurred to you that I might have a very good reason for doing what I did."

"You cannot call someone out just because you do not like them," Bevier answered, trying to regain the upper hand in the discussion.

"Oh, I did not call her out simply because she is a self-important, spiteful creature," Menina assured him with a falsely sweet smile. "Even though she is _that_."

"Then why did you threaten Maraline? Did she laugh at you? Make fun of your gown?"

Her smile disappeared and her green gaze flattened like an angry cat's. "And I am not so shallow as to consider calling her out over such trifles," she snapped. "I was deadly serious when I gave her my warning, and I had a very good reason for doing so. _I was warning her to stop carrying tales about the family._"

His jaw dropped. "She was—"

"She was telling tales about _you_, actually," Menina barreled on, "spreading the vilest innuendoes about you and your relationship with her, impugning your character to raise her standing among the court ladies." She poked a finger in his chest. "I was trying to preserve _your_ honor, you impossible man, in the one way I knew how, and you accuse me of bringing shame upon the family!"

She flung her book down on the settee as Bevier struggled to absorb the information. "Do not worry, _my Lord_," she assured him frostily, "the next time Maraline opens that viper's pit she calls a mouth to spread more gossip about you, I shall remain silent. Who knows? Perhaps I might even enjoy one of her stories."

- - -

Menina's outburst left Bevier shaken. She had never spoken to him so sharply before. If his mother had not been sleeping in the other room, Menina would most likely have shouted at him as well. Perhaps she would have even hit him.

At least he had not wound up kissing her again.

Romalic's deep chuckle echoed in his mind. _But that would have been fun, would it not?_

Bevier ignored the Bull-God's amused remark and willed himself to focus on the things that had been brought to his attention that day. Had Menina been speaking the truth? Was Maraline really leading the other ladies to think that she and Bevier were more than just friends?

_No,_ he told himself,_ she could not be. It would be most immodest._

"My Lord." Maraline's dulcet tones broke into his thoughts. "You are scowling."

Bevier blushed, embarrassed at being caught woolgathering, and rearranged his features into a more polite expression. "My apologies, my Lady. I was…buried quite deeply in my thoughts."

She pouted prettily. "You were not thinking of me?"

He _had_ been thinking of her, of course, but not in a very flattering light. Bevier knew that this was the perfect time to ask her about what he had found out that day, but decided not to do so. To gossip was a sin. "I'm sorry, but no," he said instead. "I was thinking about a—a pressing family matter." (Lying was a sin, too, but he was doing so to spare Maraline's feelings and avoid further intrigue.)

Her expression grew sympathetic. "Nothing grave, I hope?"

"No," he assured her. His eyes strayed toward where Menina was dancing a galliard with Prince Aventor. Their vividly colored heads, hers bright red and his golden blond, gleamed under the bright torchlight. Their faces were flushed and eyes bright from the exertions of the lively dance. "Just…pressing."

Maraline followed his gaze and turned back to him with a wry little smile. "Ah. You continue to worry about Mistress Menina. I understand." She patted his arm comfortingly. "Have you tried talking to her about her behavior?"

Bevier chuckled humorlessly. "Yes, I have. Many, many times."

"Well, perhaps you need to beat some sense into her."

The idle suggestion made him recoil. "I would rather not, my Lady," he answered stiffly. Although he was frustrated over Menina's behavior, the idea of raising a hand to her — to any woman — repelled him. "That is not the way things are done in my family."

She colored at the sharpness in his tone. "Oh, Bevier, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I did not mean to offend you! Many families use, er, physical means to discipline their children—"

"That does not make it right."

"Of course not, of course not," Maraline agreed quickly, "but it is still done. I'm sorry, Bevier," she repeated, her voice low. "I was just speaking from personal experience."

Bevier gasped in shock. "_You_ have been beaten?"

"Ye-es…" was the slow reply. She looked up at him earnestly, dark eyes wide. "But it was for my own good."

"Oh, Maraline." His voice was soft with sympathy.

Maraline offered him a brave smile. "'Tis all right, Bevier. There was no lasting damage done." Her smile brightened. "I turned out all right, did I not?"

"You did indeed," he agreed with a smile of his own. "I apologize, Maraline, for being so curt with you earlier. I was just, ah, rather shocked at your suggestion. I should have remembered that not all families are like mine."

"You were fortunate in your parents…and Menina is fortunate in her guardian."

Bevier puffed up with pride at the compliment. Since his conversation with Lepore at the chapterhouse, he had been afraid that he was failing in his duties to his ward-of-sorts. "It is not easy," he said modestly, "but I try my best. Fortunately, I have patience and prayer on my side."

Presently, the music ended. Some of the dancers walked off to get refreshments while others stayed to await the next dance. Menina and Aventor were among those who left the floor. Bevier watched the prince whisper something in Menina's ear and watched her laugh uproariously.

In the middle of her laughter, Menina realized that Bevier was looking at her. She promptly stopped laughing and shot him a frosty look before Aventor escorted her away. Fortunately, Maraline had been too busy greeting a passing friend to notice the silent exchange.

Bevier watched the dark-haired marchioness bestow her radiant smile on another passerby and shook his head. Maraline would never do the things Menina said she had done, not with her upbringing and her understanding of his situation. Menina had probably just heard some idle gossip and, in her zeal, blown it out of proportion. Her loyalty to the family was commendable, Bevier averred, but she had to learn that a lady exercised restraint.

- - -

Aphrael scowled as she watched Bevier turn to Maraline and invite her to dance. "That did not turn out quite the way we planned."

Romalic, who was by now spending quite a lot of time in the Child-Goddess's marble palace on account of their shared interest in Cyrinic matters, shrugged his massive shoulders. "At least he's paying attention to Menina."

"But now _she's_ the one walking away from _him_!"

"Perhaps he will try to talk to her again."

"I would not bet on that happening in the near future." She sniffed derisively. "Men are obtuse, and Bevier more so than most."

"He is not obtuse, Aphrael, just very inexperienced in matters of men and women."

Aphrael opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the sound of a light footstep behind her. She and her brother-god turned to see their cousin Setras, Cloud-God of Styricum, wander into the hall. "Hello, Setras," she greeted him.

"Hullo, Aphrael," he replied, a smile lighting his handsome face at the sight of her. A sunset slipped out of the armful he carried and fluttered to the floor.

Romalic glanced at the fallen sunset. "Very nice work, Setras."

Setras' liquid dark eyes widened in mild surprise when he spied the burly god sitting next to Aphrael. "Romalic! Whatever are you doing here?"

"Visiting," he replied simply. Since when did divinity need an explanation for doing anything?

"Oh. Well, that's nice." Forgetting his surprise, the other god's gaze wandered over to the world below. "What's going on?"

Aphrael suppressed the urge to say something unladylike. Just when she thought she could happily entertain a guest without thinking about willful and obtuse humans, Setras had to bring it up again. "Nothing much, I'm afraid," she answered, hoping that the offhanded answer would squelch her cousin's interest. To explain Bevier's situation to him would take too much time. "Birth, death, the usual."

But Setras unerringly picked out Bevier from the mad muddle of humanity. "I know him! He's one of the Church Knights, isn't he? One of those who helped fight against Klael?"

"All of the Church Knights were involved in that battle, Setras," Romalic told him.

"But he's one of the special ones, the ones who fought alongside Anakha. Were you watching him?"

"Ye-es," the Bull-God replied slowly.

"That's nice," Setras said again. There was a brief pause. "Why were you watching him?"

"Oh, we, ah…just like to check up on old friends now and then."

The other god fell silent as he watched Bevier and Maraline perform the stately steps of the pavane. "He dances quite well," he remarked, and then frowned. "But something is wrong with that picture."

Aphrael scowled. The wrong-ness of things was so obvious that even _Setras_ could see it, but not Bevier. "_Everything_ is wrong with that picture."

"Oh, no, not _everything_," said Setras, who was a most literal deity. "Just _something_…something quite important. It's the woman he's dancing with, isn't it?"

"What's wrong with the woman he's dancing with?" Romalic asked keenly.

To the Cloud-God, it sounded as if Romalic were defensive. "Nothing, really," he replied hastily. "She's comely enough for a human, I suppose, and she dances well, too; and I'm sure she has lovely manners…"

_"But?"_

Setras bit his lip in brief hesitation, but pressed on and spoke his mind. Duplicity just wasn't in him. "She's not at all the sort I imagined him with," he admitted. He watched the pair conclude their dance and walk off the floor to join a group of their friends. "I always thought it would be fun if he had a woman with…"

"A sense of humor? Lust for life?"

"Ye-es. I'm sorry if I disagree with you, cousin, but that is what I think. I may not do much thinking, but—"

"Don't worry, we are all in perfect agreement," Aphrael told him. "She's not the sort we want for him, either. However, he's being very stubborn about it."

Setras brightened, glad that he was in the right. "Oh, he will come around in time."

"But when will that be?" the Child-Goddess whined. She claimed that she never whined, but like any child she did do it on occasion.

"As long as it takes." He smiled at his cousin. "If things are not meant to be, they will fall apart eventually. Isn't free will grand?"

"And what do you suggest I do while I'm waiting for Bevier to come around?" Aphrael demanded tartly. "Try to keep him and Menina from aging too quickly?"

"I'm afraid you will just have to wait, Aphrael. You cannot hurry these things, even though I know that you want to very badly." His dark eyes grew distant again, signaling that his lucid moment was over. "And waiting can be quite enjoyable, you know…"

Aphrael and Romalic traded bewildered looks as Setras drifted out of the hall. "Believe it or not, sister mine," the Bull-God finally said, "he's right."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Disclaimer:** David & Leigh Eddings own Bevier, Berit, Elysoun and Bellina, and the universe in which they exist. Everyone and everything else is mine. Oh, yes, it is. I thought them up, so I own them, and I thumb my nose at anyone who thinks otherwise.

**Author's Notes:** Ah, finally. It took quite a while, but I got this chapter done. Yay for me. Thank you, everyone, for putting up with the delay. Special thanks to Gea, reiwulf, Tris the weatherwitch, Dagon ng Likha, Lady Bevier, sushifatale, iscariot, Iolo, rootless Californian, Aurelia, sigil, EddingsFreak, Ersatz, Gale, SweetLee, Alcaeriel and Angel Street for the reviews that gave me the motivation I needed to push on and finish this chapter. Thank you.

I hope this chapter meets up with expectations. Please let me know what you think of the last few scenes; they were the ones that gave me the most problems.

_Chapter Thirteen_

Baron Gregor's bouquet arrived shortly before sunset. It was lovely, an exquisite arrangement of delicate white lilies and pink roses, but instead of pleasing Arda, it seemed to make her sad.

She accepted the flowers from the baron's footman with a smile, but that smile faded once he left the suite. She gave them a cursory sniff and handed them to Gigette. "Put them in water."

"Which ones will you be wearing tonight, milady?" the maid inquired. Arda always made it a point to wear some of the flowers the baron sent her as a way of thanking him for his thoughtfulness and complimenting his taste.

"None of them," she replied. "I am not going to banquet tonight."

"Yes, milady." A confused expression flickered over Gigette's face as she turned to leave, but she knew better than to question her mistress.

Menina, however, did not. "Is anything amiss, my Lady?" she asked after the maid had left the room and the door was securely shut.

"Of course not, my dear," Arda assured her. "I just desire some quiet time; that is all."

The dowager viscountess was smiling as she spoke, but this did little to convince the younger woman that everything was all right. "Are you feeling unwell?" Menina pressed.

"No. I feel perfectly fine."

There was a definite ring of untruth in those words. "Forgive me for saying so, my Lady, but you do not sound as though you are 'perfectly fine.'"

"I truly am perfectly fine," Arda insisted, and then sighed. "I am just not in a sociable mood tonight."

"Why? Is anything bothering you? What can I do to help?"

The older woman managed another smile and gave her companion a fond pat on the cheek. "You do not need to do anything, my dear. I am just feeling a little blue. This will pass."

Women were given to having mysterious odd spells every once in a while, but Menina was certain that _something_ was bothering the dowager viscountess. "Are you certain it is not your health?" she asked.

"It is definitely not my health. You know that Bevier has arranged for the finest physician in Ucera to attend to me and that I consult with him regularly. He says there is no cause for alarm."

"Well, then…have you and Bevier had an argument?"

"No, Menina, we have not."

"Oh." The younger woman was somewhat disappointed to hear that. Bevier having differences with his mother would have given Menina the opportunity to berate him again. Perhaps she would have been able to challenge Maraline to that duel as well, if that woman had had anything to do with the matter. "Are your friends giving you trouble?" she guessed then. "Because if they are, perhaps I can tell them to stop, or ask Aventor's help…"

"There is no need to do that, my dear. My friends are not giving me any trouble. And if they did, Gregor is always there to come to my rescue."

There was something in Arda's voice that led Menina to conclude that she was having difficulties with the ever-faithful baron. "You are not having problems with him, are you?"

The older woman sighed. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. "Not…really," she said finally. "We have not quarreled, if that is what you are asking. Gregor and I are still very good friends. Nothing bad has happened.

"But that is precisely the problem — _nothing is happening_. I…" She sighed. "Well, it appears that we are destined to remain nothing but friends. Gregor told me once that he loved me, but given our present situation, I am not sure if that was ever true."

"Oh, my Lady, of course it was true," Menina assured her. "And it still is. The baron adores you. Has he not proposed marriage to you many times in the past?"

"Yes, but that was _then_. He has not spoken of marriage in a long time. I fear I do not know how he feels about me _now_."

The younger woman opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything the door to the suite opened and Bevier walked in, his cheeks still faintly flushed from an afternoon spent in fencing practice. A manservant followed, bearing Bevier's rapier and breastplate. "Good afternoon, Mother, Menina."

"Hello, Bevier," Arda replied, managing a smile. "Did you have a good afternoon?"

"Yes, I did, thank you. Thank you, Flavius," he said to the servant who had accompanied him.

Flavius bowed. "You are most welcome, my Lord," he answered, and left the room to tend to Bevier's equipment.

"I hope you had a good nap," Bevier said to his mother as he removed his leather gauntlets.

"It was passable."

"I saw your maid in the corridor on my way here. Were the flowers from the baron?"

Menina stiffened at the mention of the baron. Of course Bevier would not notice that his mother was having difficulty with Gregor, but she was afraid that the topic would distress Arda.

"Yes," the dowager viscountess replied, blinking hard and nodding, "he did. They were very nice; weren't they, Menina?"

"Lovely," the younger woman agreed.

"I am glad," Bevier said. "He really is a fine man, Mother. I was a bit doubtful at first, but I could see that he truly cares for you—"

Arda rose abruptly. "Would you excuse me?" she asked. There was now a definite tremor in her voice.

A puzzled expression crossed her son's face. "Mother? Is anything wrong?"

"No, nothing is wrong." A small sniffle belied her words. Waving off Bevier's requests for an explanation, she hurried into the women's bedchamber. The door slammed shut behind her.

He stared at the door for a moment and then turned to Menina, who eyed him balefully from her place on the settee. "What happened?"

She was sorely tempted to congratulate Bevier for managing to say to his mother everything he should _not_ have said, but remembered that she wasn't speaking to him. Giving him a lofty, "you-should-know" look, Menina rose and left the suite.

* * *

There was nothing to rival the feeling of a good gallop through the park. As it was already late in the afternoon, everyone was inside the palace preparing for banquet. There was no fear of scandalizing any conservative souls or bumping into riders foolish enough to get in her way.

Menina gave Afreet his head and let him carry her away. Holding on to the stallion's inky mane with one hand, she pulled the pins from her hair. She threw back her head and let the orange tresses fly in the breeze. She let herself grin in a most unrestrained, unladylike fashion and gloried in the rush that was the blood pounding in her veins.

There was no prince demanding riding lessons, no lords seeking her company, no manners to be minded…no pretending, no charades. There was only her and her horse and the earth and the sky, just as it had been in the very beginning.

She had forgotten that it could be like this.

No, she amended; she had not forgotten it at all. As Afreet slowed to a walk, it occurred to Menina that the last time she had felt such exhilaration was during the moments she had spent in Bevier's arms. Well, she thought, there was little chance of _that_ ever happening again.

"Mistress Menina."

Menina turned at the sound of her name in time to find Count Ogelor emerge from the grove bordering one side of the park. Like her, he was on horseback. She dredged up a smile and nodded in greeting. "Good afternoon, Lord Ogelor."

He chuckled when a stray lock of hair swung into her face. "Your hair seems to have come undone."

She thought it unseemly of him to remark upon her appearance, but did not say so. "Why, so it has."

"You look beautiful."

There was a note in his voice that sent a chill of foreboding down her back. "My Lord is too kind," Menina replied, ducking her head and pulling her hair back with one hand.

Ogelor's horse snuffled and Afreet snorted, as if in reply. "I was wondering, mistress," the count said then, "if you had heard about the picnic Queen Linde will be holding three days hence."

All of court was buzzing with news of the excursion. One had to be deaf to not have heard about it. "Yes, I have heard about it."

He smiled. "Ah, good. Are you planning to go?"

"Yes, my Lord, I am planning to go," Menina replied after a brief moment's pause. By now, she was fairly certain that he intended to ask if he could accompany her to the picnic.

"Will you be accompanying the Lady Arda?"

"No, my Lord, she will be attending with her friends."

Ogelor's smile turned into a full-fledged grin. "Better and better. Would you care to attend the picnic with me, then?"

She willed herself to look apologetic. "I appreciate the offer, my Lord," she answered not unkindly, "but I am already contracted to attend the picnic in the company of Duke Elias, his lady wife, and a few other friends."

"Your friends?"

"Yes, my Lord, my friends. Prince Aventor said he is looking forward to it," she added, hoping that he would get the message and not push his invitation further.

He did not get the message. "Surely you can cancel," Ogelor suggested, his grin slipping slightly.

"Oh, no, my Lord," Menina told him, her eyes wide. "His Highness would be most disappointed." She noted with rising annoyance that he sounded as if he thought that all of Menina's friends, including the prince, could hardly compare to him.

"And you do not wish to go back on your word," he drawled. "How honorable."

"Thank you."

"I thought honor was only for the noble."

The unexpected barb brought Menina up short. "I beg your pardon?" she asked sharply. Afreet tensed beneath her, as if he sensed the increasing strain in the situation.

By now, the count's smile was completely gone. "You heard me," he answered in a flat, unfriendly voice. His horse punctuated the statement with a disdainful-sounding snort.

"Yes, my Lord, I did," Menina told him, "but I do not see what honor among the noble has to do with the invitation that you just extended to me." She could tell that Ogelor was unhappy over being rejected and intended to show his displeasure. But to twit her for not being a noblewoman was completely uncalled-for. "Were you expecting me to break my appointments with my friends to attend the picnic with you, just because I am a commoner? You sound as though an invitation from you is the highest honor in the land!"

"It is for someone of your station."

"No, my Lord, it is not. And may I just say, Count Ogelor," she went on, "that I am appalled by your behavior? Such dishonorable ideas should not even occur to a lord like you."

He smirked unpleasantly, the fading sunlight casting harsh shadows on his face. "I did not say that all noblemen were honorable."

"Then they do not deserve to be called noble," Menina snapped.

The count led his horse closer to her. "That sounds dangerously close to subversion, Mistress," he noted with venomous delight. "I would watch what I say if I were you. Many already dislike you for being a jumped-up commoner, you know, and a Rendor to boot. Once the court hears that you secretly espouse rebellion, why—"

His speech was cut short by an angry, impatient whinny. Afreet, clearly fed up with Ogelor and his insults, lunged for the count's horse and nipped the air just a breath away from the animal's neck. Ogelor's horse, no doubt remembering Afreet from the day of the joust, reared and galloped away in fright with its owner clinging precariously to his saddle.

Menina watched the count bounce away with mingled satisfaction and trepidation. She was pleased that Afreet had somehow given her the last word in her argument with Ogelor, but she also knew that she had just made another dangerous enemy.

Presently, Rom's bulky silhouette came into view. "Are you all right, Mistress?" the workman asked her in his rich voice.

She turned and smiled, glad for some friendly human company. "Yes, I am just fine, Goodman, thank you."

"I heard everything, Mistress," he confessed. "I wanted to help you, but it wasn't my place."

"That is quite all right. Afreet was there to take care of me." Menina dismounted and embraced the black stallion. "Thank you, my friend," she murmured to him, and he butted her shoulder gently.

"I'm glad he was with you," Rom told her, nodding at Afreet. "We servants agree that Count Ogelor has too high an opinion of himself and needed to be taken down a peg or two. I would have turned him into a frog if I could."

Menina laughed. "That would have been a sight to behold; wouldn't it?" she asked her horse. The black stallion whinnied, as if he understood.

The burly workman came forward and laid a hand on Afreet's neck. "I shall see to him, Mistress. You had best be getting inside. Evening falls and His Lordship must be wondering where you are."

She laughed briefly, bitterly, her moment of levity dying at the mention of Bevier. "With all due respect, Goodman, I sincerely doubt that."

* * *

Menina prepared herself for banquet that evening with a decided lack of enthusiasm. Arda's unhappiness and the unpleasant encounter with Ogelor combined to effectively dampen her spirits.

_At least I am learning to live with Bevier's continued indifference,_ she thought as her guardian of sorts escorted her to the banquet hall and abandoned her just inside the entrance without a word. _These days, I can watch him walk away from me without wishing that I could throw a rock at the back of his head. A shoe will do just fine. _

"Good evening, Mistress," said a voice at her elbow. Fortunately, unlike most of the voices she had heard that day, this one belonged to someone she truly liked.

Menina turned toward Gregor and favored him with a curtsy. "Good evening, my Lord."

He bowed in return and, once the proprieties had been observed, gave her a fond smile. "How have you been?"

"Tolerable, my Lord. And you?"

The baron chuckled. "I like that word, 'tolerable.' I think I shall say that I am tolerable, too." He craned his neck and scanned the crowds milling about in the ballroom. "Where is Arda?"

"I am afraid she is not here tonight, my Lord."

"Why?" Gregor asked, concerned. "Is she feeling unwell?"

"She is not ill," Menina hastily assured him. "She just desired some 'quiet time,' that is all. All these court functions tend to grate on one's nerves every so often," she confided.

"Yes, they do, don't they?"

"She asked me to thank you for the flowers you sent her," she went on.

The baron smiled shyly. "Did she like them?"

"Oh, yes, very much! The viscountess said that although she would not be able to spend this evening with her friends, at least she has your flowers to keep her company." It was wrong to lie, of course, but Menina decided that if that was what it would take to encourage Gregor to press his suit, then she would heap false praise upon his gifts on Arda's behalf.

"I am glad. It has been a while since I sent her flowers. I did not want her to think that I had forgotten her."

"She would never think _that_, my Lord. You have always been a good friend." She looked closely at Gregor as she spoke.

Just as Menina had hoped, her reply had caused him to look faintly displeased. "Is that all I am to her? A friend?"

She shrugged. "She cares about you very much, my Lord."

_"But?"_

"_But_, she is, shall we say, discontent," she answered frankly, but in a low voice so that others would not overhear their discussion. "If I may be honest, my Lord, the viscountess appreciates your presents and attention, but I think she would like your relationship to move forward."

"To move forward?"

"Yes, my Lord. She has lived quietly for too long. Now that she has regained her health, I think she wants to have fun."

"Fun?" By now, a distasteful expression had crossed Gregor's face.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Were those her very words?"

"Ah, she said it differently," Menina admitted evasively, "but that is what I understood from her. Does that hold any special significance for you?"

"Yes, I know what Arda meant by 'fun,' Menina," the baron answered stiffly, "but I would rather not discuss it, if that is all right." He shook his head. "Actually, I would rather not even think about it."

"I am afraid you will have to, my Lord," she advised him. "The viscountess thinks that you no longer have deep feelings for her, and you will have to do something to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you still do."

* * *

"Mother!" Bevier called loudly from the sitting room of the family suite. "Menina! Are you not ready yet?"

When there was no answer, he paced some more, wondering why it was taking them so long to get ready for an afternoon outdoors. He spotted a book on the table beside the settee, but it was one of those terrible romance novels Menina liked to read. "We are going to a picnic! It is definitely not a formal affair! How long does it take to get ready for something like this?"

"As long as it takes, Bevier," his mother replied calmly as she emerged from the women's bedchamber, followed by Menina and their maids. "A lady must always look her best." She stopped right in front of him and gave him a queenly smile.

He looked quizzically at her. "Isn't that color a bit too gay for a widow?" That afternoon, his mother disported herself in dusky rose brocade, trimmed with touches of a darker pink. He had not seen her wear such a color in a very long time.

Arda looked hurt. "Your father's been dead for twenty years, my son. It is not inappropriate to put aside my mourning gowns every once in a while. Besides," she went on, smoothing her skirts, "I have always loved this color."

The regret in her voice made him feel like a first-class boor. She did look very nice, and Bevier was sure that his father, may he rest in peace, was past caring about what his wife wore. "Well, it is very becoming," he amended. "I'm sorry, Mother. I spoke in haste. Will you forgive me?"

"Do you really think the color is becoming?"

"Yes, Mother, I do," Bevier answered sincerely, "and you may wear it every day if you wish." He had also thought that the color was too young for a woman of her years, but wisely said nothing.

To his relief, a smile broke over Arda's face. "Perhaps I shall," she said, reaching up to pat his cheek. "Now, shall we go? Where are our cloaks?"

"Right here, milady," one of her maids answered, holding them out.

Bevier watched with disinterest as the women donned their light cloaks. Then, as they turned to go, Menina did the strangest thing: she smiled at him.

It was not her customary comradely grins, just a polite curving of the lips, but ever since their, er, discussion about Maraline, she had not made any friendly gestures toward him at all. Bevier was glad that, despite their rift, Menina acknowledged the allowance he made for his mother.

He was glad because Menina had not let her situation with him affect her devotion to Arda. He was not glad because, after a week of cold glares and stony silences, she had finally smiled at him.

* * *

Queen Linde's picnic was held in the eastern courtyard, a sunny swath of well-manicured lawn bordered by shade trees. The courtyard fronted a sizable artificial lake, and behind it rose the high green wall of a maze garden. That day, a light breeze sent gentle ripples across the lake's surface, breaking up its reflection of the sunlight and making it appear as though the water was filled with diamonds.

"You chose a perfect day to have your picnic, Your Majesty," Maraline complimented the queen as she and Bevier stopped by to pay their respects. Menina, standing nearby with Prince Aventor and their friends, stifled a scornful sniff.

"I only chose the day," Queen Linde answered modestly. "God was the one who made it perfect."

The marchioness laughed. "Oh, of course, Your Majesty. How silly of me to forget!"

_"Silly" is definitely the word for you,_ Menina thought.

The queen smiled benignly at Maraline and her escort. "Why don't you go find a place to sit? I will instruct the servants to serve the food soon."

As it was a picnic, the courtiers were to sit on cloths spread out over the grass, but proper tables and chairs had been set up for the royal family and the older nobles present who would have had difficulty sitting on the ground.

Prince Aventor forwent his seat at the royal table for a spot on the ground with his friends. "Oh, I do hope there are peaches," Galema said fervently. "I crave them so these days."

"I do not see why there would not be any," the prince assured her. "They are still plentiful in the markets."

"Why are you craving them?" Menina asked. A possible answer occurred to her then, and she looked around warily at the mixed company. "Or perhaps I should not be asking?"

The pretty duchess smiled. "It's all right, Menina, I do not mind telling you and all our friends here that…I believe I might be having another child."

The ladies exclaimed in delight and the men pounded a beaming Elias on the back in congratulations. "I knew it!" Menina said happily. "That's wonderful, Galema!"

"Would you like a boy or girl?" Countess Ileana wanted to know.

"Well, we already have two sons," the mother-to-be replied, "so I think it would be nice to have a little girl this time."

"Of course, what is most important is that the babe is healthy," Elias said.

"You just want another boy!" Lepore teased him.

The duke chuckled. "A man can't have too many sons!"

The food was light and plentiful. There was fish, broiled and served with lemons, and roasts of beef supplemented with fine bread, butter and cheese. There were game pies that could be eaten out of hand, an array of fresh fruit (including the hoped-for peaches) and small cakes and sweets. The guests washed down this feast with sweet wine or, if they preferred it, fresh-pressed fruit juice.

After eating, there were games and amusements. A troupe of professional actors presented Master Bayhard's newest comedy, which was met with much applause. There were word games and mental puzzles and, after a reasonable period to digest the food, a number of more athletic competitions. As the women looked on, the men displayed their prowess in archery contests and foot- and boat-races.

Menina's friends distinguished themselves in the games that afternoon. Baron Gregor bested all the lords of his age in archery, while the team of Elias and Lepore won their boat-race.

Aventor also won his foot-race, but did not appear too happy about it. "Whatever is the matter, Your Highness?" Menina asked him in a low voice when he returned to his place by her side.

"I think the others let me win just because I'm the prince," he grumbled as the older lords took their places for their race. Had the prince been younger, the expression on his face would have been called a pout.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true. It seemed to me that your opponents tried their best to beat you. Look at Lord Durantis' son yonder; he placed second and is still trying to catch his breath."

"Well, that's one genuine opponent I had."

Menina took a deep breath and let it out slowly in a silent sigh. It was very difficult to coax Aventor out of his moods. Afreet had his moods as well, but at least he could be distracted with a handful of grass when he was sulking. He also did not talk back.

The prince turned to her contritely after realizing that she had fallen silent. "I'm sorry, Menina. This was but a small race and I should not be dwelling on it so. If the others cheated themselves so that I could win, that was their choice. I should just be happy that I bested the one who truly chose to compete against me."

"It is all right, Your Highness," she assured him. "Your insistence on fair competition speaks very highly of you."

"Nevertheless, allow me to make amends for my childish behavior." He smiled and held out his hand. "How about a walk?"

* * *

As with many residences handed down through the generations, the architecture and landscaping of the summer palace in Ucera was a mixture of the styles that had been popular through the centuries. The courtyard with its artificial lake, site of Queen Linde's picnic that day, had been installed by the first owner of the palace, back when it was still called an estate, before there even was an Arcium. On the other hand, the maze, to which Aventor was now escorting Menina, was commissioned by one of the prince's long-deceased ancestors, a fellow less pious than the average Arcian who sought a private place to court the ladies (sometimes more than one at the same time).

The sounds of revelry gradually faded away as Menina and Aventor ventured further into the winding passages of the maze. Soon, their entire world was composed of the ground, the sky, and the high, precisely clipped hedges that seemed to hold the two apart.

"I have never been in here before," Menina confessed as she followed the prince down one green corridor. "Are you sure you know your way through this maze, Your Highness?"

"I've spent quite a bit of time in here, especially when I still had tutors," Aventor replied, grinning impishly at her over his shoulder. "Don't you trust me?"

"Oh, I do, of course; it is just that I am not accustomed to these very enclosed spaces." They passed a small recess in the hedge that held a life-size marble statue of a man in ancient Elene garb. The statue was a priceless example of the Arcian stonecutter's art, but it was also quite easy to imagine it as the petrified remains of an unfortunate who had become hopelessly lost in the maze and never found his way out.

"Just relax and follow me," the prince told her. "We will be approaching a clearing soon; we can rest there a moment if you like."

Sure enough, in a short while they came upon a pocket of blessedly open space containing a small flowering garden. They sat down on the broad, flat lip of the fountain set amid the plants. "Better?" Aventor asked over the gentle burbling of the water.

"Yes, thank you," Menina replied. She looked around, admiring the colorful, delicate blossoms around them. "I cannot believe you have gardeners who manage to find their way through this maze."

The prince chuckled. "They become familiar with the lay of the land in time. The newer gardeners, however, still tie the end of a long piece of string to the posts at the entrances to the maze, and then follow the string to find their way out."

She laughed. She had noticed a carved stone pillar as she entered the maze, but thought it only an ornament. "Then perhaps I should have gotten myself some rope before coming in here."

"Don't worry about that, Menina." While she had been talking, Aventor had drawn closer to her. "I would never leave you alone in here."

Menina stopped laughing. The prince's face was now scant inches from hers. "Your Highness?"

"I seem to recall us making a wager some time before Mother's birthday," he murmured huskily, his glittering blue eyes on her mouth, "and I recall winning that wager, but I do not recall ever collecting my prize."

_I do recall kissing someone, though_, she thought, and the memories came rushing back, obliterating the sight of the prince drawing ever nearer.

Menina flinched and drew away the instant his lips touched hers. "I can't."

"Why not?" To her relief, he did not sound angry. "Is something the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, I just…" She groped for words, but could find none. "I just can't."

"Is it Sir Bevier? Are you in love with him?"

Her jaw dropped. Once again she futilely searched for words. She had never actually considered the possibility that she was in love with Bevier, but the more she pondered it, the more she felt that the prince was right — and the more she was unable to deny it. "Whatever made you think that?" she finally managed to ask.

The prince gave her a small smile. "After he found us that night at Mother's birthday banquet, I went back to the party and tried to wait until you came back," he admitted. "When it took so long for both of you to appear, I was certain he was giving you a blistering lecture, but judging from the look on his face when he finally came out of that room, I don't think that was what happened. Was it?"

Menina shook her head, feeling her face grow hot. "No. No, it was not." She raised stricken eyes to his face. "Oh, Aventor, I'm so sorry—"

"You do not need to apologize for anything, Menina. We are friends, and it is a sad reality that we cannot be more than friends without damaging your reputation." Aventor's smile widened into a grin. "But you and Sir Bevier, now, _that_ is a possibility — and an interesting one, I might add. Perhaps I could ask Father to order him to marry you."

"You wouldn't," she said, but her protest sounded pathetically weak to her ears.

He chuckled. "Well, I won't tell him about it any time soon," he assured her, "but if Sir Bevier makes me angry enough, I shall foist you on him." The prince pressed a friendly kiss to her still-burning cheek. "Come, let us return to the gathering before people notice that we've gone."

* * *

Aventor and Menina were not alone in their use of the maze. Couples sought refuge in it all the time, especially when there was a gathering close by from which they wanted to get away. In fact, one such couple entered the maze at the same time they left it through another exit.

"It was a brilliant of you to suggest visiting the maze, Gregor," Arda said as she strolled down a leafy corridor on the baron's arm. "It is so nice and quiet here."

He managed a smile and nod in agreement. "Yes, it is a refreshing respite from Her Majesty's picnic. I was having a good time, of course," he added, "but I was getting tired."

"Yes, all the gaiety can get on one's nerves after a while. I am glad that the young people are enjoying themselves, though."

"Mm." Gregor glanced sideways at the dowager viscountess as they walked. She was relaxed and smiling, admiring the statues and urns that they walked past. She did not look the least bit discontent, despite what Menina had told him. However, he also knew that looks could be deceiving.

Arda turned her smile on him. "I must admit that I am glad to have this time with you. It has been a while since we were in each other's company."

"Yes, it has."

"I have missed you, Gregor."

She spoke plainly, without any dramatics, but the admission thrilled the baron nevertheless. "I have missed you, too, my dear," he answered, hoping his voice did not sound high or shaky. He had not worried about making a good impression on a woman in…well, a very long time.

Arda colored prettily. How natural, and how wonderful, that "my dear" had sounded coming from him. _Am I really your dear?_ she wanted to ask, but held her tongue. "Have you?" she asked instead.

"Of course," he replied. He paused, and her heart began to beat faster. "Very, very much."

Gregor jumped when something brushed against him. Arda's hand slipped into his. "Well, then, if we have missed each other," she said, "then it is only right that we have this bit of time together."

"H–how have you been feeling?" he asked her then. "Menina assured me that you were not ill, but after not seeing you at quite a few court functions, naturally I became concerned."

"I feel perfectly fine," Arda assured him, "I just felt the need to rest. That is all." She smiled. "And now I feel refreshed and ready for whatever life has in store for me.

"Of course, I am happy with the way things are at present," she added. "I am grateful to have Menina and my son in my life. However, if God sees fit to grant me another great adventure, I certainly would not complain!"

Gregor's heart began to pound. He felt as though he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, and the fall that would follow was both tempting and terrifying. "What kind of adventure would you like to have?" he asked.

Arda's heart began to pound. "Oh, I do not know, really," she replied lightly. "Anything can be an adventure. Perhaps I shall do a bit of traveling. Bevier is always going off on Church business. I am sure he would not mind if I accompanied him on one of these jaunts. Or perhaps…" She broke off and laughed softly. "Never mind. These idle fancies can get silly sometimes."

"No, please, go on. Dreams are never silly. What other kinds of adventure would you like?"

She blushed. "I think that I would not mind having, well, a little romance again," she said, looking away. "I had a good life with Destan, but that ended when he died."

Gregor felt himself falling. His hand squeezed hers.

Misinterpreting the gesture as one of disapproval, Arda hastened to explain herself. "Of course I have wondered — is it wrong of me to wish for this? Many widows settle into a comfortable sort of spinsterhood after they lose their husbands. Others even look upon taking up with another man as a form of adultery, a dishonoring of their husbands' memories. It is all very noble and romantic, but…I do not want to be like them."

Gregor shook his head. This was it. He had to move. "You do not have to be." He stopped walking and, turning to her, lifted her hand to his lips.

Arda gasped, surprised and thrilled and afraid, when he planted a kiss on the back of her hand. "I don't?"

"No." His own hand trembled slightly, and he hoped that she would not notice. "I think that if you do not want to be like other widows, then you do not have to be. You are different from those women.

"And Destan loved you," he went on before she could say anything. "I do not think he would like for you to feel lonely or unloved. He would not begrudge you any happiness in your widowhood, even if it would be with another man."

She trembled. The world suddenly seemed much bigger somehow, and it was centered on the wonderful, loving man holding her hand. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I really think so." Suddenly, he grinned. "And if I am wrong and his ghost shows up to protest your new life, I shall certainly have something to say about that."

* * *

"Hmm, this is nice."

Bevier watched Maraline lift her face to drink in the gentle, fragrant breeze blowing down the corridor of the maze. "Very nice," he agreed. Outside, at the picnic, the midday atmosphere had turned close and still. He was grateful for the chance to get away for some fresh air.

The lady on his arm giggled suddenly as they strolled. "Did you notice the way Rafale was making a fool of himself over that twit Damaris? Fetching and carrying for her, laughing at her silly jokes, feeding her tidbits from his plate, and all with the most besotted look on his face!"

"Well, they _are_ betrothed," Bevier replied.

"_I_ never acted that way when _I_ was betrothed, not even in private."

"I think that the devotion he is displaying bodes well for their life together."

"Hmm, yes, I suppose it _is_ rather sweet," Maraline averred then, "considering that theirs was not a love match."

"Apparently, it has turned into one."

She fell silent for a moment. "Do you think so?" she asked after a while. There was a note of wistfulness in her quiet voice. "Do you think love is possible for people of our class?"

Bevier smiled. "I know that many of our rank jest that only the poor can afford to love, but I do not believe it. We are all human and thus capable of loving. Many of our class marry for money or political advantage, but that does not in any way diminish our capacity to love. And I have nothing but the utmost admiration for those of us who manage to find love despite the harsh realities of politics and economics that we must face."

_"Oh, Bevier!"_ Suddenly, Maraline plowed into him

He fell back against a nearby statue, bumping his head on the unyielding stone. When the stars finally cleared from his eyes, he found that she was rubbing against him, her lips pressed to his, her tongue in…_ugh!_

Unlike the other kiss he had experienced recently, this one felt completely wrong. Bevier braced his hands on his assailant's shoulders and peeled her off his person. "Maraline—_my Lady_, what in the world are you doing!"

"I'm kissing you," she replied matter-of-factly, pink lips curved in a smile. "Don't you know what kissing is?"

His cheeks burned. "Yes, yes, of course I do, but–but _why_ are you kissing me? You're married. This is highly improper." He gasped as a new and appalling idea occurred to him. "Surely you don't intend for us to…to…"

"Wouldn't it be the perfect arrangement?" Maraline asked, confirming his suspicions. "You are the Cyrinic Champion and therefore above suspicion. You can escort me everywhere and we can carry on an affair and no one would ever guess!" She drew closer again.

Bevier stepped sideways, slipping out of her embrace. He recalled his friend Berit's stories about the Tamul Empress, Elysoun, and wondered whether this was the sort of thing that the poor fellow had endured at her hands. "Maraline, please stop this. You are married. We can never be more than friends."

"Friends?" Her smile faded. "What about all you just said about love?"

"I was speaking of finding love in one's marriage, not outside of it!"

"What if there is absolutely no chance of finding love in your marriage? What if you are compelled to look for it elsewhere?" Maraline pouted coquettishly. "Don't you want me?"

"I–I…" Bevier stammered, trying to find words that would put his point across and spare her feelings, but sadly there did not seem to be any. "No, my Lady," he said finally. "I do not.

"I'm sorry, Maraline. You are a very beautiful woman and–and I admit that I was, ah, strongly attracted to you, but that was a long time ago. And even if I were still attracted to you, nothing could come of it. The fact remains that you are another man's wife."

"That hasn't stopped other men before!" Maraline snapped.

This piece of information saddened him. Clearly, the beautiful dark-haired marchioness was not the paragon he once thought she was. "I am afraid it stops me, my Lady."

"Oh, you and your silly principles!" she cried, stamping her foot. "I suppose you think it's manly to stick to those principles, hmm? Well, are you man enough to break your own rules, Bevier?" she demanded. _"Are you?"_

Bevier looked down into Maraline's face and was reminded of Lady Bellina, the woman who had been possessed and then driven mad by Azash. He had gotten a glimpse of the unfortunate woman's face before he and his companions had sealed the entrance to her tower and had seen in it the same anger and hatred that he now saw in the woman before him. Bellina had been beyond redemption, and now he felt that Maraline was similarly lost to him.

"You can be assured that I will not tell anyone of your outburst," he informed the marchioness formally, "although I would suggest that you take some time to regain your composure before returning to the picnic so that others would not sense that anything is amiss. Now, if you will excuse me." He gave her a stiff, polite nod. "Good day, my Lady."

Bevier spun on his heel and walked away from Maraline before she could say another word. His mind was still reeling from what had just happened, but willed himself not to dwell upon it. He would sort his thoughts out later, when he was alone.

As he strode down the passageway to return to the picnic, a splash of dusky rose down one corridor caught his eye. Bevier paused to take a closer look and saw that it was his mother, and she was locked in a passionate embrace with a man that he recognized as Baron Gregor.

_Oh, God!_ He resumed walking — fast — and tried to shake the highly disturbing image from his mind. _What was wrong with everybody?_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Disclaimer:** Bevier's world belongs to David & Leigh Eddings. I own what's turning it upside down. (How cool does that sound:D) 

**Technical Notes:** I honestly can't remember whether the Eddingses ever used the term "Elenian," but I'm using it now to refer to people from the kingdom (queendom?) of Elenia. Considering that Elenic is spoken and written not only in Elenia, I've always considered "Elene" to refer to the race of people inhabiting most of Eosia.

Oh, and katyclismic, don't worry about not remembering whether the Rendors are like the Peloi – I made that up! Not much is known about the Rendors who live outside of Jiroch, and I thought there ought to be a tribe of them wandering the desert raising and trading beautiful horses a lot like the Arab stallions in our world. I hope that addresses your concern.

**Author's Notes:** At last, another update! Thank you, SweetLee, Lady Bevier, Jamie, Géa (_Merci beaucoup pour votre soutien!_), MK, Lost in Dreamland, Alcaeriel, Caleb Nova, Joshua5, sushifatale, Lauren, katyclismic, sigil and Silverleaf Rand for your reviews and continued patience and support.

For anyone who's interested, Bevier and Menina have their own LiveJournal account — the username is **sir**(underscore)**cyrinic**. I honestly don't post in it much, but I do put stuff there occasionally.

_Chapter Fourteen_

For the western Elene kingdoms, the late and unlamented Primate Annias' elaborate scheme to take control of the Church was an object lesson in the importance of international cooperation. Besides deepening political alliances, this also promised real benefits in terms of improved national security and greater economic opportunities. Thus, in the years following Annias' downfall, the monarchs of Arcium, Deira, Elenia and Thalesia met periodically in each other's domains to reinforce diplomatic ties, exchange information and ideas on matters of common interest, and strike the occasional bargain.

This year, it was Arcium's turn to host the summit. In order to make a favorable impression on his foreign guests, King Dregos ordered Ucera cleaned and beautified from top to bottom. Workers and townspeople immediately got to sweeping, painting, repairing and replanting in accordance with His Majesty's wishes. On the other hand, the lords and ladies of the court devoted their efforts to improving their appearances in order to impress their counterparts.

The preparations were finished just before the visitors began to trickle in. First to arrive was the delegation from Elenia: Queen Ehlana; her husband, the Pandion Knight Sparhawk; their daughter, the Princess Danae; and a small entourage.

Bevier was among the Cyrinic Knights stationed near King Dregos' throne when the Elenian party was announced. He watched as his friends made their way down the red carpet to pay respects to their host, drinking in the sight of their familiar faces.

Little had changed in the months since he had seen them last. Queen Ehlana was as lovely as ever, resplendent in her favorite royal blue. Prince Sparhawk stood steadfastly by her side, looking forbidding in the formal black armor of his Order. Only two other Pandions, the blond Sir Kalten and the youthful Sir Berit, were escorting the queen, but Bevier knew that the formidable Sir Sparhawk alone was more than enough protection for her. Standing between her parents was Princess Danae, who spotted him and gave him a bright smile, and arrayed behind them were Ehlana's lady-in-waiting, the stunning Baroness Melidere; the queen's maid, Alean; Talen, the young page; and Sparhawk's squire, Khalad.

Bevier then noted that Mirtai, the queen's personal bodyguard, was not with them. In her place was Stragen, who was an odd addition to the group. With his elegant manners and fashionable attire, the blond man blended perfectly with the nobles in the room, but the fact remained that he was not only baseborn and a thief, but a Thalesian besides.

The visitors came to a stop before King Dregos and paid their respects with formal bows or curtsies. Rising from their thrones, the Arcian royal family reciprocated and King Dregos made a polite speech welcoming his guests to Arcium, giving thanks to God that they had had a safe journey, and entreating Him to make their visit a happy and productive one. Bevier maintained the appropriate formal demeanor as his king spoke, but had to fight to keep from smiling when it was the visiting queen's turn to speak.

Speaking in the ringing tones the knight knew so well, Ehlana thanked her host for the warm welcome and echoed his wishes for a fruitful visit. She declared that her life had seen its crown (she really was fond of that phrase, Bevier noted) and complimented Arcium on the safety of its roads, the "vivid, sunny beauty" of its landscape, and the good health of its people. She concluded with a prayer, an exquisitely worded entreaty to God for Arcium's continued happiness and prosperity that moved many to tears.

Bevier privately hoped that Ehlana wasn't angling for any political or economic concessions during this visit, because King Dregos was almost certain to grant her whatever she wanted after a speech like that.

* * *

After the formal meeting with King Dregos, Queen Ehlana and her party were escorted to their apartments so they could rest from their journey and prepare for that night's banquet. It was only at the banquet, after he had fulfilled all his official duties, that Bevier was able to greet his friends. 

Ehlana was chatting with her husband when Bevier approached with his family in tow. He dropped to one knee before the queen and bowed over her hand. "Welcome to Arcium, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Sir Bevier," she responded with a grave and graceful curtsy. The greeting in her gray eyes was much warmer, but Arcian protocol dictated that more informal behavior be reserved for after all proprieties had been observed.

Bevier rose smoothly to his feet and exchanged formal greetings with Sparhawk. Then he motioned for Arda and Menina to come forward. "If I may, Your Majesty, I would like to introduce you to my family. This is my lady mother, the Dowager Viscountess Arda; and Menina, my, ah, ward."

Both women sank into deep curtsies. "It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty," Bevier's mother said, speaking for both of them, "and your noble husband."

"It is likewise an honor to meet you, my Lady," Ehlana replied formally, and then broke into a cheeky smile. "I suppose you are relieved to finally meet the people your son has been running around with all this time."

If Arda was surprised at the familiar manner in which she was being addressed, she did not show it and addressed the queen similarly. "Yes, I am very pleased to finally meet you all personally," she said easily. "After all, a mother must always know the sort of company her son keeps!"

Ehlana laughed, and then turned her attention to Menina, who was standing shyly to one side. "And you are Bevier's ward?" she asked with a friendly smile.

Menina had spent a large amount of time in the company of a prince, but this was the first time she had ever met, let alone been directly addressed by, foreign royalty — and a monarch at that. "Y–yes, Your Majesty," she managed to say.

"How are you related to him?"

Menina reddened. She had clearly not been expecting to have a conversation with the queen. "I, ah—"

"My cousin Lilear was her stepfather, Your Majesty," Bevier intervened, laying a reassuring hand on her arm. "She came to us after he died."

Ehlana smiled at him. "How lucky you are to have family to take you in," she then remarked to Menina.

The redheaded young woman nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said honestly. "They have been very good to me."

Arda beamed. "And we are very lucky to have her with us," she added. "She was delightful company when Bevier was away."

"I am very pleased to meet you both," Ehlana said warmly.

Soon they were joined by the other Pandions, Melidere, Stragen and – strangely – Alean. Bevier introduced his family to them and, after a few moments' friendly chat, Arda and Menina excused themselves, leaving Bevier with his friends.

"It's wonderful to see you all again," he said, smiling happily at them. He had gone on many adventures all over most of the known world with these people. While he was glad to be home, he had also missed his companions very much. "How have you all been? How are things in Elenia?"

"Just fine, thank you," Ehlana replied. "We left things in very good hands when we left for Matherion."

"Where is Mirtai?" was Bevier's next question. "Did she finally wed Kring?" Marriage was the only reason he could think of for her absence, as the Atan giantess took her duties very seriously.

"Yes, she did. When we rode into Elenia, we found him waiting for her."

"It was so romantic," Melidere sighed, fluttering her eyelashes, and produced a dainty wisp of a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her eyes. "And so sad. He took her away from us so quickly."

"Well, she had to go," Ehlana said, taking out her own handkerchief. "Her place is with her husband."

Just then, Kalten cleared his throat loudly, breaking the ladies' mournful mood. "Speaking of weddings," he said, drawing Alean gently forward, "Sir Bevier, may I present to you my bride…?"

A joyful grin spread over Bevier's face as the meaning of Kalten's words sank in, and he bowed to the blushing young woman. "It is an honor, my Lady."

Alean giggled self-consciously as she curtsied in return. "Oh, please, Sir Bevier, there's no need for any fuss."

Bevier smiled at her. "Of course there is. This is a momentous occasion. When were you married?"

"Just a week or two ago," Kalten told him was the reply. "After we got back to Cimmura, we gave Ehlana time to do some queen things—"

"_Queen things?"_ Ehlana asked mildly.

"—and then we all went to pay Osril a little visit."

Bevier looked around at his friends. "All of you went to visit him?"

"Of course," the queen told him. "You didn't think I was going to miss seeing him get his comeuppance, did you?"

"And what kind of comeuppance did he get?" Bevier wanted to know.

Kalten opened his mouth, undoubtedly to begin a long and detailed account of the encounter with Alean's lecherous former employer, but when he saw the discomfort on his bride's face, he decided to just give a summary of events. "Well, of course I gave him a good thrashing, and then Alean and I married immediately after. And I mean immediately, because we brought a priest with us to Osril's house. Osril witnessed our marriage and Ehlana here even convinced him to give Alean a nice dowry; wasn't that nice?"

"Very nice," Bevier agreed, amused. "Well, my heartiest congratulations to you both. May you have a long and happy life together."

"Thank you, Sir Bevier," Alean answered with a shy smile.

"And now that Kalten has been successfully married off," Ehlana said, giving Bevier a significant look, "I am now free to devote my efforts to _you_."

Melidere giggled and inclined her head towards where Menina was conversing with her friends. "It appears that Sir Bevier got started without you, Your Majesty."

Bevier blushed. "There is nothing of _that_ sort between Menina and myself, my Lady. She is only my ward."

Ehlana gave him a sly little smile. "You may wish to recall, dear Bevier, that Sparhawk was my tutor and guardian before I got him to marry me."

Bevier looked to Sparhawk for support, but the big Pandion only reddened and cleared his throat uneasily. He then decided that evasive maneuvers seemed to be the best option and sought to change the subject. "Stragen!" he said to the thief. "Fancy seeing you among Queen Ehlana's companions. Aren't your, er, operations based in Thalesia?"

This time, it was Stragen's turn to blush. "I–I took a brief business trip to Cimmura," he said, sounding oddly defensive. "And when Her Majesty said she was coming here, I invited myself along." He gave a watery chuckle. "I'm not one to pass up free food, you know."

* * *

Besides beautifying Ucera for the Elene monarchs' visit, King Dregos also ordered that a town fair be held to amuse the visitors and give merchants the chance to showcase their wares. At his mother's urging, Bevier took his family to visit it on the day that it opened. "I was afraid that if we waited, then all the good merchandise would be gone," Arda explained as they alit from their carriage on the fringes of the fair. 

"There was no need to worry about that, Mother," Bevier told her. "People are coming from all over to take part in the fair. I expect that there will be a fresh attraction cropping up every day."

"Is that so? I suppose we should visit the fair every day, then."

Lepore, who along with Gregor had decided to accompany Bevier's family that day, chuckled and nudged his brother-knight. "Let your mother enjoy, old man," he murmured. "It's been a while since she enjoyed this sort of thing."

Indeed, Arda seemed bent on making up for lost time. Their party progressed slowly through the bustling, booth-lined streets because she stopped to marvel at all the side shows and view the items sold in every booth. Menina gamely pointed out things that she thought would appeal to the dowager viscountess and Gregor purchased all manner of pasties, sweets and little trinkets for her. "Oh, Gregor, you are spoiling me so," Arda chided him after he bought her a paper cone of sugared chestnuts.

"Well, you deserve to be spoiled, my Lady," he answered indulgently.

She blushed, popped a chestnut in her mouth, and offered the rest to her companions. "Try some; I believe these are the best I've ever eaten."

"Thank you, Mother," Bevier said politely as he helped himself to one.

"You're going to want more than just one, Bevier. These are delicious." Arda smiled at her son. "Isn't it odd how food seems to taste so much better outdoors? Oh, what is going on over there?"

Completely by chance, Bevier's eyes met Menina's over the top of his mother's head and she gave him a wry little smile that seemed to mirror his own mood. Bevier felt as though his and Arda's roles were reversed and _he_ was the parent shepherding an excitable child through the fair. It was a bit exasperating, but at the same time he could not help but take pleasure in seeing her so lively and happy.

"What about you, divinity?" Lepore asked Menina then. "Do _you_ have any desires that need fulfilling?"

"_Lepore!"_ Bevier exclaimed.

"I meant material desires, of course," his brother-knight added piously. "Some more sweets, perhaps, or a ribbon for your glorious hair?"

Menina laughed and shook her head, causing said glorious hair to glint in the sunlight. "I am happy just to look, my Lord."

They passed a merchant boasting loudly about how his wares were all the rage with the fine ladies of a hundred kingdoms. "How about a pair of gloves for your dainty hands?" Lepore suggested. "Some garters? That man over there is selling some very nice ones—"

"_Lepore!"_ Bevier admonished again, and scowled when Menina laughed at the other man's outrageousness. One did not discuss such personal items in public, let alone with someone of the opposite sex!

The other knight rolled his eyes, but sensibly steered his suggestions towards more acceptable ones. "How about a horse? I saw some fine ones earlier. You could buy a mare to, ah, keep Afreet company."

Surprisingly, Menina reacted most violently to this last offer. "Oh, no, I couldn't!"

"Why not?" Lepore asked.

"I do not have the money, my Lord."

"Well, that's not a problem! Bevier or I could lend you the amount you need, and you need not worry about repayment right away. Yes, I know, old man," the knight said just as Bevier opened his mouth, "one does not discuss financial matters in mixed company, but we are all friends here, are we not?

"I am also sure that you could get a good price," Lepore continued, addressing Menina once again. "The traders I saw were Rendors. You might even know them."

Menina blushed and shook her head. "My Lord, buying a horse is not like buying a pair of gloves or a–a hair ribbon," she answered. "It is a business decision that requires careful consideration. I did not come here planning to buy a horse." She glanced quickly at Arda, who was happily engrossed in whatever was going on several booths down. "Now, if you will excuse me, Lady Arda might have need of me."

The two Cyrinics exchanged mildly puzzled looks as the redheaded young woman hastened away. Bevier was about to wonder out loud at her odd behavior when someone touched his elbow. He spun around, hand automatically falling to the hilt of the short sword hidden under his cloak, to find a man in Cammorian garb standing by his side. "Do I have the honor of addressing the Cyrinic Knight, Sir Bevier?" the stranger asked with a respectful bow.

"Yes," the knight confirmed warily, hand still on the hilt of his sword.

"My master, the Marquis Lycien, sent me to come after you."

Bevier relaxed somewhat at the mention of his second cousin's name. "Lycien is here?"

"Yes, my Lord. He is here at the fair and saw you pass by. He bade me come after you and ask if you would honor him with a visit. I am to take you to him if you are available."

"Go on, old man," Lepore encouraged Bevier when the latter looked questioningly at him. "I'll let the others know where you've gone."

"Thank you, Lepore." Bevier smiled at his friend, and then to Lycien's servant. "I'd be delighted to go and see him."

He followed the servant down one row of booths after another until he caught sight of Lycien's round, beaming face. Lycien thanked his servant with a nod, and then came forward to clasp his second cousin's hand. "Well met, Bevier!"

Bevier smiled. "Hello, Lycien. How are you?"

"Quite well, thank you."

"That's good." The knight glanced at the booth beside which they were standing. There were quite a few people inspecting and haggling with the merchants over the trinkets and bolts of cloth for sale. "This is your booth?"

His cousin nodded. "Yes, it is. When I heard that there was going to be a fair here, I decided to take a booth. It's been a while since I last visited Arcium, besides, so this was the perfect opportunity to mix business with pleasure."

"How long do you plan on being here?"

"Just until the stock I brought runs out, which I expect to be about a fortnight, although — God willing — I will do such good business that I won't be here for that long. I've rented a house in town, if you would care to visit."

"I would like that."

Presently, a flash of orange caught Bevier's eye and he saw Lepore leading Menina, Arda and Gregor to them. A look of relief crossed his mother's face when she saw him. "Thank heavens we found you, Bevier! I was worried when Lepore told me you had gone off by yourself."

Bevier was strongly tempted to remind her that he was a grown man and was more than capable of taking care of himself, but decided against it. "As you can see, Mother, I am perfectly fine," he told her calmly. "I was just right here, visiting Lycien. You remember Lycien, don't you?"

Arda looked Lycien over and nodded. "Yes, of course I remember him." Her tone was polite, if a bit cool. It must be recalled that many in their family, especially the more old-fashioned members thereof, frowned upon Lycien's going into trade and as a result had practically severed ties with him. Bevier's part of the family was not as critical of him as the others, but most of what Arda knew about the situation and the man in the center of it all was unfortunately based on family gossip.

Lycien offered her a bow. "Hello, Aunt Arda, 'tis a pleasure to see you again."

Bevier then introduced Lycien to the rest of his companions, who received him much more warmly. "Lycien has taken a booth here at the fair," he told everyone. "He will be staying in Ucera for the next two weeks."

"That's nice," Gregor said. "A lot is happening here these days. Where are you based?" he asked Lycien.

"In Cammoria, my Lord," the portly man replied. "It's not as charming as Arcium, but then what place is?"

"I did not know that you and Lycien were so close, Bevier," Arda remarked to her son.

"We were not until several years ago," he admitted, and then smiled at his cousin, who was looking rather uneasy. "But since then, I think we have formed a good relationship. Lycien was a great help to us on our missions for the Church."

"Oh." Arda paused, and Bevier sensed a softening in her attitude. "That was very nice of you, Lycien."

Lycien smiled and he, too, relaxed. "I was happy to help a kinsman in need, Aunt."

She turned to survey the booth, which was still doing brisk business. "You seem to be doing very well for yourself."

"I am doing all right," he answered modestly, and stepped back to let his aunt peruse his wares.

Lycien looked on proudly as she and Menina admired the items for sale, and insisted on giving each of them a small gift. He presented Arda with pearl-and-amethyst brooch in the shape of a flower, for Menina there was a comb set with peridots to wear in her hair. As Bevier had expected, the younger woman tried to return her gift, but Lycien wouldn't hear of it. "The stones are a lovely match for your eyes, my Lady," he told her. "It would be criminal to let any other woman have it."

Menina blushed. "Oh, but I can't—"

Arda laid a hand on her arm. "Just say _thank you_, Menina," she instructed, and shot Lycien a mischievous smile. "And if anyone ever admires your comb, be sure to tell them where it came from."

Lycien burst out laughing. "I would be much obliged to you if you did so."

"Anything to help a kinsman in need," his aunt responded sweetly.

Bevier shook his head over the exchange and asked to see the assortment of small daggers on display. After inspecting each one carefully, he selected one ornamented with brass and colored stones. It had a chain that could be attached to a belt or girdle. The vendor manning the booth named a price, and Bevier paid it without bothering to haggle because his mother and Menina had both received items for free.

After completing the transaction, he turned to Menina and presented the dagger to her. "For you."

She was so surprised that she did not immediately try to return it. "Th–thank you, my Lord."

Strangely, it was Lycien who protested. "You don't want that one, Bevier," he said, shaking his head at the dagger in Menina's hand. "That's mostly glass in the setting; I put it out for the less wealthy folk. Let me show you some of the finer ones—"

"I didn't buy it just because it's pretty, Lycien," Bevier told him in a low voice.

Understanding dawned on his cousin's face. "Oh."

The exchange seemed to have gone unnoticed by the others. "It's a fine blade," Lepore said as he inspected the dagger. The brown-haired knight knew his blades, for the pride of his family was its fine collection of antique weapons.

"You'll never know when you'll need one," Arda added, nodding wisely.

Menina smiled as she fastened her new dagger to her belt. "I think it's lovely. Thank you, my Lord," she said to Bevier.

He smiled and inclined his head politely. "You are most welcome."

* * *

Menina was still wearing the dagger when she returned from riding with Prince Aventor that evening. As Bevier rose from his reading to observe her entry, he thought that it looked rather out of place against her plain riding clothes, but the sight pleased him. 

She pulled off her cap and gloves before becoming conscious of his presence. "Good evening, my Lord," she greeted him.

"Good evening, mistress," he answered.

She glanced down at the dagger on her belt and gave him another smile. "Thank you again for your present. I like it very much."

He smiled back. "And again, you are most welcome." This was the longest, most civil conversation they had had since their quarrel about Maraline.

"The knife is not just for show, you know," Bevier pointed out then. "It will be useful for a number of things…including situations requiring, ah, some self-defense."

His tone of voice suggested that he was referring to something that he did not wish to discuss, and Menina knew right away what it was. "I suppose you mean that I am to use it on any man who seeks to take liberties with my person?" she asked bluntly.

Bevier blushed, sensing that she was venturing into dangerous territory. "Well, that _is_ one kind of situation that would require a woman to defend herself…"

"Am I to use it on _you_, if need be?"

And now she was dragging him into dangerous territory along with her. He cleared his throat and looked away. "You need not worry about me."

"What a pity."

Bevier turned back to her. "Menina, please be serious. We are discussing a matter of great import here. As your guardian, it is my duty to protect your virtue, not..." He dropped his gaze and his voice dwindled to a mumble. "Not threaten it, as I did that night."

"Bevier, it was just a kiss."

That caused him to look at her again. "_Just_ a kiss!" Bevier repeated, affronted. It was one of the most earthshaking things that had ever happened to him, and — considering that he had seen most of the known world and battled evil in its purest forms — that was saying a lot.

To his satisfaction, Menina now looked slightly uncomfortable. "You know what I mean, Bevier," she said earnestly. "In itself, it was a very nice kiss, but when you, ah, look at it from a religious point of view, it is not that grave a sin. Some might not see it as a sin at all."

"Everyone would when they consider the fact that the kiss in question took place between a guardian and his ward."

"But the guardian and ward in question happen to be a grown man and woman who know their own minds."

"But what if the grown man and woman in question were not able to control themselves? I could have…" Bevier forced himself to keep looking into her eyes. "I could have done more, you know."

Suddenly, Menina felt the mad urge to run away, or at least make herself very small. This piece of information was very disconcerting. "Really?"

"Any man could have."

"But you are not any man."

He shrugged. "I'm a man like any of the others."

"All right, if you had lost control, that would have been a problem," Menina averred, fidgeting with the cap and gloves that she carried. "But I could have taken care of myself — remember the night that you found me in the stables, trying to sneak out to ride Afreet?"

"I wish I could forget," he said with a wince, and then smiled when she ventured a laugh. "Menina, I think we should stop arguing about this. It has hung over our heads long enough. If this goes on, my mother might begin to notice."

She nodded enthusiastically. "We would not want that to happen."

"I am not pleased with what happened that night. I acted most shamefully, and I hope you can forgive me."

Menina honestly believed that she did not need to forgive him for anything, that what happened had just simply _happened_, but decided not to argue any further to avoid more conflict. "I forgive you."

"Thank you."

They smiled shyly at each other, careful not to spoil this new beginning.

"However," Bevier could not resist adding, "I still strongly recommend that you guard against this wanton behavior of yours. It could get you in trouble someday."

Menina smiled impishly over her shoulder as she turned to enter her bedchamber. "Rest easy, my Lord. I do not act the wanton for just anyone."

Bevier shook his head when the door closed, but was unable to keep the smile from his face. She had gotten the best of him this night with her maddeningly unladylike words and ways, but at least they were friends again.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Disclaimer:** Everyone and everything that you recognize from an actual published book belong to David & Leigh Eddings. Everyone and everything you recognize from this story is my own creation.

**Author's Notes:** At long, long last, here is a new chapter! I apologize (again) for the very long delay, but some parts of this one were very difficult to write. The ending wasn't as explosive as I had hoped, but for whatever it's worth, it's a turning point. I hope the rest of the story will be easier to write. Thank you to Murasaki99 for talking me through how to tend to a horse after a ride, to Géa, Silverleaf Rand, Iolo, sigil, Caleb Nova, slytherin-mafia, Rainy73, Lauren, vaders.bane, Alcaeriel, SweetLee, GinaLee, bah and stormewolf for your reviews, and to you, dear reader, for your continued support!

_Chapter Fifteen_

Several days after the Elenian contingent reached Ucera, the Deirans and Thalesians arrived together. Representing the venerable King Obler of Deira was his eldest daughter, the Crown Princess Stasia, a handsome woman in her early forties. She was accompanied by her husband, Prince Filan, their two children, a small entourage and a ceremonial guard composed of twenty Alcione Knights. The Alciones' massive steel armor made it difficult to tell them apart, but Bevier managed to recognize one of them as Sir Tynian, the jovial champion of the Alcione Order.

And, despite Queen Ehlana's impressive speech on her first day in Arcium, it had to be admitted that the monarch who created the biggest stir among the Arcians was Uther Baldricsson, the new King of Thalesia. This was his first formal appearance abroad after inheriting the crown from his cousin, Avin Wargunsson, and the world was curious about the young and rather reclusive king. (He became a great favorite with the locals because his wife, Gitta, happened to be the youngest sister of their own Queen Linde.) Accompanying the Thalesian royal couple were a few attendants and thirty mail-shirted Genidian Knights, including the hulking, blond-braided Sir Ulath.

After a few more days of welcome banquets, visits to the town fair and other amusements, the Elene monarchs got down to business — and so did their subjects. As their rulers closeted themselves in King Dregos' chambers to discuss matters of international import, Bevier and his friends met in Sparhawk and Ehlana's apartments to exchange news.

"There's nothing extraordinary going on in Elenia," Sparhawk reported. He leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. "Thank goodness."

"But the wheat crop looks like it will be bountiful this year," Princess Danae remarked as she played with her kitten at her father's feet, "so prices should be good at the next harvest. You should tell Mother to get King Dregos to buy wheat from us, Father."

"Your Highness, you mustn't interrupt the grown-ups' conversation," Alean admonished gently. Although marriage to Kalten had raised her to the status of noblewoman, she was clearly still devoted to serving the royal family.

"Well, it's _true_," the little girl answered.

Sparhawk flushed. "Ehlana insisted that Danae start learning about politics and economics," he explained to his friends.

"A mind's a terrible thing to waste," Ulath said with a shrug.

Danae gave the blond Genidian a twinkling smile. "Thank you, Sir Ulath."

"You're welcome, Your Highness."

"Milord Stragen and Baroness Melidere are also teaching me about the intricacies of court," the princess informed everyone innocently. "I am learning how to dance, make interesting conversation, spot a cheat at the gaming tables and deal with a young man who's being too fresh."

_"Stragen!"_ Bevier exclaimed, scandalized.

"Court is a very dangerous place, my dear Bevier," the elegant blond thief replied. "A lady, especially one as precious as Her Royal Highness here, must know how to care for herself."

"But she's still a child!"

"Is there a new Pandion Preceptor yet?" Tynian asked then, in a bid to change the subject.

Sparhawk scowled. "No," he grumbled. In addition to being Prince Consort and Queen's Champion, he also held a number of other official positions, including "interim" preceptor of the Pandion Order. However, it appeared that the Pandions were taking an extraordinarily long time in selecting someone to officially take the reins.

"We're not even considering nominations for the job," Kalten laughed. "You're it, Sparhawk. The sooner you accept it, the better."

"I'm being pulled in so many directions that you can see right through me." He plucked his daughter's kitten off his leg. "I've even become the royal scratching post."

"But you love being busy, Father," Danae said. He gave her an exasperated look, but did not try to deny it.

"How is King Obler faring, Tynian?" Bevier asked his friend.

"Not very well, I'm afraid," the Alcione Knight replied, his usually cheerful expression dimming. "There is no official word yet, but it seems that he might not last much longer."

"Oh, the poor man," Melidere said with genuine sadness.

"Fortunately, Princess Stasia appears to be a very capable replacement," Tynian continued. "King Obler taught her well and her husband is a fine soldier, a good friend of Preceptor Darellon's. There are, of course, some rabble-rousers seeking to have a man succeed Obler when he goes, but the line of succession is clear, and the Alciones are firmly in favor of Stasia's ascension to the throne."

"The Genidians are in favor of Uther's ascension, too," Ulath rumbled. "Unlike Avin, he's intelligent; and unlike Wargun, he's not much of a drinker. He may not be as much fun at parties as Wargun was, but I think we'll keep him around for a while."

The big blond Thalesian then turned to Stragen. "You know," he said, "I don't think I've seen you in Thalesia since we returned from Matherion."

The thief turned red. "I just thought I would take an extended vacation," he answered lamely.

At that moment, Bevier's eye happened to fall upon Melidere. There was a sly, amused smile on the baroness' beautiful face.

* * *

While Sparhawk, Bevier and their friends discussed the state of affairs in their respective kingdoms, others were more interested in matters of a more personal nature. 

Princess Corella of Deira, daughter of Crown Princess Stasia, was a lovely young woman about Crown Prince Aventor's age, and the prince seemed to be very much aware of this fact. At least, he appeared to be greatly enjoying fulfilling his duties as host to the princess.

"They make a handsome couple, do they not?" a plump countess asked her friends at banquet one evening.

"Yes, and they seem to be getting along famously," agreed one as they watched Aventor lead Corella to join in the dancing that had just begun. "I shall ask my brother-in-law to suggest to King Dregos — the king listens to his advice, you know — that he should arrange a match before some other prince snaps her up."

"Even if there were some other prince offering for her hand, I don't think she could make a better match than with Prince Aventor. If she marries him, she would become a queen someday."

"And of a major Elene kingdom, at that," added the plump woman's husband.

Another woman sighed in exaggerated relief. "Thank heavens the prince has found someone of good breeding and proper rank. I had feared that we were never going to see the last of that Rendor."

"Well, it appears that he has finally tired of _her_."

Unfortunately for them, Arda just happened to be passing by at this point and overheard the tail end of the conversation. She turned to the gossips with a small smile on her face. "I hate to disappoint you, ladies, but His Highness continues to be on friendly terms with my ward. In light of that, I strongly recommend that you think about that before you begin to speak ill of Menina. I would not like that sort of ugly talk to reach the prince and perhaps even his father. It would not make you look very good." She shook her head ruefully. "Not very good at all."

* * *

Arda, of course, knew better than anyone that Menina and the prince were still keeping company. In fact, the pair went riding together the very next day. 

"You are getting better," Menina commended Aventor as they returned to the stables after their ride.

"I didn't fall off my horse once today," he said with a proud grin. He groped for the reins so that he might hand them to the groom that waited by his side, but remembered that he was riding bareback and that there were no reins to hand over so he sent his horse off with a carrot and an affectionate pat on the rump. "There is something so elemental and—and _free_ about riding bareback, isn't there?"

"There is indeed," she agreed, beginning to brush Afreet's coat.

Aventor fed the black stallion a carrot. "Do you…do you think this will impress the princess?"

She smiled at the wistful note in his voice. "Isn't Princess Danae a bit too young for you?"

"I don't mean _her_," he said, turning red. "I meant Princess Corella."

"I know whom you meant, Your Highness. I was only teasing you."

"She's very pretty, isn't she?"

"Yes, Your Highness, she's very pretty; and friendly as well." As a friend of the prince's and of certain high-ranking members of the court, Menina had had the privilege to be introduced to Princess Corella and found her to be well-spoken and without the affectations and prejudices that afflicted so many members of the nobility. "I think the two of you would make a very fine match."

Aventor blushed, but he managed a teasing grin. "As fine a match as you and Sir Bevier?"

She shook her head against the idea. "Please, Your Highness, let us not speak of such things. He is my guardian."

"But you are not a child," he told her, unwittingly employing the same logic Menina had used in her last discussion with Bevier.

She busied herself with cleaning Afreet's hooves so that she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. "I know that, but I cannot entertain such ideas."

"Of course you can. You just aren't doing so right now." The prince grinned when she looked back up at him with a scowl that said that she had had enough. "Come now, don't be mad, Menina. I was just teasing you."

"Well, stop it."

"_You_ started it."

The grin on the prince's face was the first thing Bevier saw when he entered the stables. Intense displeasure stabbed through the knight at the sight, and it made him clear his throat with more force than necessary.

Aventor turned at the noise and smiled when he saw the newcomer. "Hello, Sir Bevier!"

Bevier bowed. "Your Highness." He looked sharply from the prince to his ward. Was she _blushing_? "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Not at all, my Lord; Mistress Menina and I were just talking."

Bevier peered at Menina, who said nothing to confirm this, but Afreet blinked at him innocently. "Ah, well, I fear I must cut your conversation short, Your Highness; my mother has need of Menina."

Menina jumped to her feet, instantly on the alert. "Is she all right?"

"She's just fine," Bevier assured her. She sighed in relief, which he found oddly gratifying. "I believe she merely desires your assistance in getting ready for banquet tonight."

"I suppose we should all be getting ready for banquet as well," Aventor remarked. He gave Afreet a final pat on the neck and nodded to Menina. "Thank you for today's lesson, Mistress."

She sketched a curtsy. "It was my pleasure, Your Highness."

The prince inclined his head towards Bevier. "Sir Bevier."

The knight bowed again. "Your Highness."

He waited until Aventor was gone before turning to Menina with a suspicious look on his face. "Why was he _smirking_ at me?"

"Was he smirking at you?" she asked, trying to sound innocent. She had finished cleaning Afreet's hooves and was now wiping the black stallion's face with a soft rag.

"He most certainly was. He looked as though he knew something about me that I did not."

"Oh, I'm sure it was nothing."

"Is there any gossip going around about me again?" Bevier demanded. He arched an eyebrow. "Have you called anyone out lately?"

Menina fought the urge to throw her rag in his face. Or better yet, stuff it in his mouth. "No, Bevier, there is no new gossip going around about you." She refused to dignify his other question with an answer.

"If there was any going around, or if there was something important that I ought to know, you would tell me, would you not?"

She hid herself behind Afreet and pretended to give his flanks one final wipe. "Of course," she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone of voice. The small lie rendered her unable to meet Rom's eyes as the burly servant came forward to lead the black stallion to his stall. "Come, my Lord, we must not keep your mother waiting."

* * *

Menina was only half-glad that Bevier escorted her to banquet that evening. She was thankful for his company because Prince Aventor was once again dancing attendance on Princess Corella, but at the same time she feared that he would take the opportunity to ask her more unsettling questions. 

Fortunately for her, Bevier was more interested in the budding relationship between the young royals than in continuing his interrogation. "Is there something going on between Prince Aventor and Princess Corella?" he asked as he and Menina watched the pair lead a group of courtiers in a galliard.

"Not yet," she replied with a smile.

Bevier's eyebrows rose. "Not _yet_? Are you saying he is thinking of offering for her?"

"Well, he has not said anything to me about that," Menina admitted, "but 'tis a possibility, is it not?"

He smiled, delighted at this piece of information. "That's wonderful. She seems to be a very nice girl."

"Yes, she is that."

"Now, that is a lovely sight," Arda remarked as she stood at the other side of the dance floor.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Gregor agreed. "As much as I hate to agree with those interfering biddies who call themselves ladies, I must admit that Prince Aventor and Princess Corella make a very fine pair."

"I wasn't talking about them, Gregor." The dowager viscountess of Catalum nodded at a pair of spectators partially hidden by the dancers. "I meant my son and Menina."

"Oh." He peered at them. "Is there something going on between the two?"

"No, but I'm very glad to see them getting along. They had some sort of quarrel some time ago and seem to have resolved their differences. They tried to hide it all from me, of course, but I saw right through them."

"Of course you would."

A smile flickered across Arda's face as she eyed her son and ward appraisingly. "It would be nice, though, if something _did_ go on between Bevier and Menina, wouldn't it?" she murmured.

Gregor blushed. "Arda, how could you say that? She is your ward, practically your own daughter."

"Oh, Gregor, don't be such a stick in the mud. Menina is not a child just out of the nursery; she's a woman. A mature, intelligent and beautiful woman unrelated to us by blood. She also has one advantage that others might not have — I already approve of her!"

"That's a very important advantage for a prospective daughter-in-law," the baron said with a small smile. "You need to remember, however, that the choice of your daughter-in-law ultimately rests with Bevier."

"He will choose Menina if he knows what's good for him," Arda said. "If he doesn't, then I will just hope that he doesn't choose a woman who is anything like that horrid Lady Maraline."

"How is the Lady Maraline these days?" Menina asked Bevier at that moment.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged, her expression innocent. "I am just curious."

"I believe she is well, although I must admit that I am not certain of that. We've, ah, decided that we are better off out of each other's company."

Something inside Menina leapt at the news. "I could have told you that long ago," she said, trying — and failing — to keep from grinning.

Bevier's lips twisted suspiciously. "Be nice."

* * *

"I am getting very tired of this," Aphrael grumbled as she watched Bevier's conversation with Menina. "They are obviously _very_ attracted to each other. Why can't they just get together?" 

"They will in their own time," Romalic soothed his sister.

She blew out an irritating breath. "I don't think I'll live that long."

"And _I_ don't think you need to interfere. They're spending more time in each other's company — that's progress, isn't it?" he asked brightly. "By the way, you must remember to thank the Elene God for leading the Deiran princess to bring her family to the summit."

"I'll send him some flowers." The Child-Goddess flopped on her stomach and propped her chin on her hands as she pondered some more on the problem of getting Bevier matched and settled. Thinking that his mistress wanted to play, her white tiger padded over and batted at her arm with his paws.

Suddenly, she sat up, her face aglow. "I've got it!" she announced as the white tiger leapt back with a roar of surprise.

Romalic rolled his eyes. "I hope this does not involve any freak accidents, translocations or removal of anyone's free will."

"Those are yesterday's plans. This one is perfect!" Aphrael turned to her brother, her black eyes twinkling. "Why don't I have Sparhawk talk to Bevier? Bevier looks up to him. Sparhawk should be able to lay his ridiculous doubts about women to rest!"

The Bull-God arched a considering eyebrow. This plan was certainly more ethical than anything she had considered in the past, but… "Sparhawk's not going to like that."

"Oh, he'll do it anyway."

* * *

No one ventured into the park anymore these days. Many who had initially resolved to get their proper rest and exercise (or at least show off their expensive new mounts and riding clothes) abandoned their vows in the face of the endless amusements and late nights of the court season, while those who managed to keep their resolutions were forced to give them up when Prince Aventor practically requisitioned the space for his riding lessons. 

"She rides very well."

Bevier turned from the window overlooking the park to find Sparhawk standing beside him, watching Menina show the prince a new trick. "Yes, she does."

"I heard Ehlana mention that she's Maranatoi."

"Yes. They grow up practically on horseback."

They turned back to watch the riders again. "Do you watch them often?" the big Pandion asked after a while.

A pause. "Yes," Bevier finally answered, "but it is my duty as her guardian to ensure that they are behaving properly."

"Is that the only reason?"

Another pause. "Yes," the younger knight repeated. "Should there be another reason?"

"There could be."

They watched the pair dismount. The prince leaned close to whisper something in Menina's ear.

"What other reason could there be for me to watch over Menina like this, Sparhawk?" Bevier asked as his ward giggled and ducked her head. He turned, frowning, from the scene before him to the older knight. "Do you think that I want her for myself and want to make sure than no other man is encroaching on my territory?"

The Pandion's eyebrows rose. "I was willing to settle for you feeling some inexplicable possessiveness towards her, but your version is far better than mine."

"You know I have always been inclined towards the dramatic. I would not recommend reading too much into it."

"So you _don't_ want her for yourself? Your ward is a beautiful, intelligent woman who's not afraid to get dirty — believe me, that's rare," Sparhawk said with a small chuckle. "Any man would be honored to be with her."

"I am well aware of Menina's charms," Bevier replied, "but because I am her guardian and not just 'any man,' I cannot entertain such ideas."

"You know, I used to think the same way. As Ehlana's tutor, I believed that the only right and proper way to treat her was as my student." The big Pandion smiled reminiscently. "But the women we are tasked to protect are people, too, and it can be a dangerous, wonderful thing when they realize that. Speaking as a man, my friend, when they decide that they want us, the wisest thing to do is to just accept it and enjoy the ride."

* * *

The next day marked the culmination of Prince Aventor's riding lessons. It was the last day of the summit, and although a formal farewell banquet was already scheduled for that evening, Queen Linde decided to have a special party that afternoon in honor of the female guests from the western Elene kingdoms. Naturally, everyone in the Arcian court scrambled for invitations to the highly select gathering, and by the time the guests of honor began to arrive, a sizable crowd was already on hand to welcome them. 

"How charming!" Queen Ehlana exclaimed as she and her entourage arrived at the park, where the party was being held.

"It's so pleasant, Your Majesty," Alean agreed. "Just like a picnic!"

It was indeed a pleasant day. The sun blessed the gathering with its warm kiss, the sky was a deep, cloudless blue, and a playful breeze flirted with everything it touched. Large canopies had been set up on the grass to shade the tables that had been set with fine linen and tableware. The air was filled with laughter, music and lively conversation as Queen Linde's guests did justice to the array of delicacies that composed the menu.

Not everyone, however, was eating their fill. "Are you feeling all right, Aventor?" Princess Corella asked the Crown Prince of Arcium, who sat picking at his food beside her.

"I'm fine, Corella," he assured her. "I'm just not very hungry today."

"That's a first," she joked, but her humor faded when she saw that he was not laughing. "Oh, Aventor, I didn't mean to tease you. Is anything wrong?"

"No, everything's fine." He dredged up a smile. "I know this loss of appetite is alarming to you, but I'm quite all right, really."

Seated across the table, Menina said nothing, but tried to send the prince an encouraging look. She and Aventor were going to do some exhibition riding as part of that afternoon's entertainment. It was planned as a surprise — besides the two of them, only the queen and a few trusted servants were privy to their plans — and the prince was nervous about performing in front of the Deiran princess. Menina had done her best to reassure him, but it was impossible to reason with Aventor; he was consumed with the idea of impressing Corella.

Lepore addressed her then, diverting her thoughts from the prince. "Divinity, I note with much interest that the old man is not with you. Is he no longer afraid that one of your many suitors will lose all control and carry you away?"

Menina laughed. "He has never had to worry about that, my lord."

"Oh, I beg to differ!"

She shook her head as the other ladies at their table giggled. "If you must know why Sir Bevier is not with me, my lord," she said, "it is because he is busy chaperoning someone else." With a smile, she inclined her head towards a table occupied by some of the older courtiers.

Galema gave a small squeal of delight. "He's watching over his mother and the baron!"

Indeed, Bevier was sitting at that table, keeping a weather eye on Arda and Gregor. The baron glanced diffidently at him from time to time, but the dowager viscountess seemed quite determined to ignore her son's presence and chattered gaily with her friends.

"The poor man!" Elias laughed. "If it's not his ward, it's his mother!"

"Has the baron loved Lady Arda long, Mistress?" Corella asked.

"Baron Gregor has been a neighbor and friend of the family for a long time, Your Highness," Menina told her. "I believe he has been most attentive of her ever since they were both widowed."

"How romantic!"

Bevier saw the Deiran princess glance in his direction. The amused expression on her face was a bit unsettling (she was sitting with Menina, Elias _and_ Lepore, after all), but he managed a courteous nod to her. She nodded and smiled back at him, then turned back to her dining companions. None of them looked at him or laughed, which Bevier took as a good sign.

Several moments later, he saw Menina and the prince rise and excuse themselves from the table. Bevier sat up straighter and tried to see where the pair was going, but someone drew him into the conversation, forcing him to abandon his mission.

Suddenly, there was the thunder of hoof beats. Several ladies shrieked when they saw two horsemen galloping across the grounds towards the party. Bevier leapt to his feet and joined a group of lords who were rushing towards the riders to try and stop them, but the horses halted on their own a safe distance away from the tents.

The steeds, one black as night and the other a rich bay color, reared on their hind legs and neighed loudly, pawing the air. Both sets of forelegs hit the ground at the same time and the horses stood quietly. A smattering of applause arose when everyone recognized the prince and Menina as the riders. The applause grew louder when they saw that the pair wore matching lavender-and-gold riding costumes.

"They're going to put on a show!" Arda said as she and Gregor joined Bevier at the front of the crowd. "Did you know about this, Bevier?"

"No, Mother," he replied, taking her arm. All around them, people jostled for position to watch the performance.

The dowager viscountess clapped her hands as four servants emerged, each of them holding a bouquet. "I'll wager Menina taught the prince the tricks she showed us in Catalum. Oh, this is going to be sensational!"

While in Catalum, Bevier had grown accustomed to watching Menina perform her stunts by herself, so it was a novelty to see two riders instead of just one this time around. The crowd ooh'ed and ah'ed as Menina and Aventor leapt and spun in perfect unison, their mounts keeping time beneath them.

"Ohhh!" Arda exclaimed as the pair switched mounts by leaping from one horse to another. "I hadn't seen that one before!"

"Menina had no one to do that with back home, Mother," her son replied, his eyes intent on the riders.

"Perhaps you should ask her to teach you to do that, then, old man," murmured Lepore, who was standing nearby. "She's obviously a very good teacher."

Bevier had to agree with that. He was certain that Aventor had not known how to perform these tricks before Menina had come to court, but now the prince moved with the confidence of one who had done them all his life. Nevertheless, Bevier noticed that Menina glanced at the prince every so often (when it was safe to do so), as though to make sure that Aventor was safe.

The ladies gasped when the bouquet-bearing servants formed two lines out on the field, directly in the path of the riders. To their credit, the servants stood perfectly still as Menina and Aventor bore down upon them. Everyone held their breath as, standing balanced on the backs of their mounts, the pair bent down once and then twice to pluck the bouquets from the servants' hands. They barely wobbled when their horses came to a halt before the queens' chairs, and executed perfect back flips off their mounts' backs to thunderous applause.

The applause continued as Menina presented one bouquet each to Queen Ehlana and Queen Gitta and the prince to his mother and Crown Princess Stasia. "That was wonderful, my son," Queen Linde said as she accepted her flowers, "but if you want your mother to live to a ripe old age, don't ever do that again!"

"Yes, Your Majesty," her son said humbly, but his grin was unrepentant.

Suddenly, he and Menina reached into their tunics and produced nosegays of flowers, which they presented to Princesses Corella and Danae to more applause. Danae squealed, delighted at being included with the grown-up ladies, as she took her flowers and gave Menina a loud kiss on the cheek. (Unfortunately, Corella's thanks were much more reserved.)

Their gifts bestowed, the riders drew back, doffed their caps and bowed to their appreciative audience. Then they straightened and gestured to their mounts, who bent their forelegs and bowed as well to tumultuous applause.

Just like everyone around him, Bevier clapped loudly, watching as Menina congratulated Aventor. Although they were winded from their exertions, the pair looked happy over a job well done. A pair of grooms — one of them was Rom, Bevier noticed — came forward to see to the horses.

"Menina!" his mother called, waving wildly beside him. "Over here!"

She turned at the sound of her name and waved back enthusiastically, her proud grin brilliant against her flushed face.

"You were wonderful, my dear!"

Clearly still breathing too hard to speak, Menina placed a hand to her heart and bowed in their direction, her hair glinting in the sunlight.

When she straightened again, her eyes met Bevier's and her smile faded slightly, becoming almost shy. He found himself smiling and nodding back, even raising his hands again in additional silent applause especially for her. Menina's smile widened again and she stood for several moments, fidgeting with the cap that was still in her hands, until a maid came forward to lead her away, perhaps so she could tidy her appearance.

Bevier watched her leave, taking his eyes off her only when she disappeared into the milling crowd and he became aware that someone had touched his hand. "Your Highness," he greeted the Princess Danae, who was standing by his side. "Those are very pretty flowers."

"I do, don't I?" The princess buried her nose in her flowers and smiled impishly at him. "I like her."

"Do you know what?" he blurted out. "I like her, too."

* * *

"I thought I told you not to interfere!" Romalic admonished Aphrael.

"I didn't do anything!"


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill - everyone (and everything) you recognize belong to David and Leigh Eddings; the rest belongs to me.

**Author's Notes:** Wow, this chapter was a long time coming! I'm dreadfully sorry about the wait - a whole lot has happened over the past year, what with me leaving my job and moving to the US to (finally) go to graduate school, and then having to adjust to grad school and life in a new country. I've been working on this story in fits and starts the whole time, but it's really difficult to find the time to sit down and actually write this pivotal chapter in the story! Thank you very much for your patience and continued interest. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I also hope the rest will be easier to write, LOL! ~ Ara

Chapter Sixteen

One would have thought that life would become quite humdrum after the end of the Elene summit, but soon after the last delegation departed for its home kingdom, it was announced that, after over two decades of saintly widowhood, the Dowager Viscountess Arda of Catalum had agreed to marry the Baron Gregor of Garacon. King Dregos' approval had been duly sought, and the Arcian monarch had already given his permission.

It was just what the court was looking for to relieve its tedium. Neither party needed to remarry; both were financially comfortable and he already had legitimate children to inherit his holdings. "He wouldn't be able to get any heirs on her if he didn't," a plump, sulky-faced countess said cattily. "She's quite a bit past her prime, you know."

"Perhaps his children need a stepmother," someone suggested.

"His children are married with children of their own," someone else pointed out. "They don't need a stepmother."

The fact that the baron was a neighbor added spice to the story. Quite a few were tempted to suggest that Gregor and Arda had been carrying on a long-standing affair, perhaps even while her husband was alive, but no one was stupid enough to actually say so and risk having such crude remarks reach the ears of the lady's betrothed — or worse, her son.

"They are marrying for love, that's all there is to it," a longtime friend of Gregor's declared. "He does not need heirs, property or status, and neither does she. There is no other reason why they would marry, and you should stop making up ridiculous explanations."

* * *

"I hope that will put an end to all the gossip," Menina remarked to Bevier when he told her about what the baron's friend had said.

They had correctly surmised that tongues would wag when the news of the betrothal first broke, and were now monitoring the talk that was going around court. The betrothed couple seemed blissfully unaware of what others were saying about them, but Bevier and Menina agreed that it would be best to keep the gossip from getting out of hand and ruining Arda's happiness.

"It had better," he agreed grimly, surveying the dance floor before him as if searching for an offending party.

"My Lord, you sound like you're about to call someone out," Menina murmured teasingly.

Her voice, pitched low so that no others would overhear, sent a very pleasant but equally unwelcome sensation down Bevier's spine. He stiffened and turned towards her, intending to tell her not to say such things, but the reprimand died on his lips when he realized that she was standing just a breath away from him.

Menina's green eyes widened as she realized the same thing and she stepped back quickly. "I'm sorry. It was a poor joke."

"No, no, it wasn't that," he assured her. "It was quite funny, actually." Bevier managed a shaky little laugh. "It's just that…nothing. Forget I said anything."

"I saw that," Aventor teased several moments later, after claiming Menina for a dance.

"Saw what, Your Highness?" she asked.

"That little exchange with Sir Bevier."

"We were talking about his mother."

"And that almost made him kiss you?" The prince arched an amused eyebrow. "He must like you _very_ much."

Menina's face began to grow warm. "He didn't almost k-kiss me. We were just standing close to each other by accident, that's all. I moved away as soon as I realized it."

"What a pity," Aventor chuckled as they neared the small knot of courtiers assembling on the dance floor.

"With all due respect, Your Highness," she told him, a repressive note creeping into her voice, "please stop being ridiculous."

"Well, it _is_ a pity, considering the way you feel about him. Next time, you should wait around for a moment. You'll never know what will happen next—_ah!_"

A gasp arose from the ballroom as the prince cried out in surprised pain and stumbled. He fell against Menina and she staggered. "Your Highness!" she exclaimed, grabbing his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Cramp," Aventor told her, rubbing one leg with his free hand. "I suddenly got a cramp."

He was leaning on her quite heavily, and Menina struggled to support his weight and help him off the dance floor. Fortunately, it was not long before Bevier and Lepore arrived on the scene to offer their assistance.

"Is everything all right, Your Highness?" Bevier asked as the prince moved to lean on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Aventor replied. "I'm fine," he repeated in a louder voice for the benefit of the gawkers, who had remained a cautious distance away. "I just got a cramp in my leg. It took me by surprise, that's all.

"I'm sorry," he told Menina with an apologetic smile as conversation in the ballroom resumed. "I suppose I shall have to miss this dance."

"Think nothing of it, Your Highness," she assured him, following the small group off the dance floor. "What is important is that you sit down and have someone see to you."

"Yes, but this is terribly embarrassing. I have not been doing anything overly strenuous lately, and I was so looking forward to dancing…where do you think you are going?"

Menina looked at him blankly. "I'm going to sit down."

"You can't do that!" The prince nodded towards the cluster of dancers, who were still waiting to begin. "They'll be one pair short for the dance."

"They will still be one pair short if I don't sit down, Your Highness," she pointed out. "I don't have a partner."

"By God, you're right!" Aventor agreed, a bit too quickly, and realization began to dawn upon Menina. With mounting suspicion, she watched as a thoughtful expression crossed the prince's handsome face and he turned to one of the knights supporting him. "Sir Bevier, could you take my place and partner Mistress Menina in the dance?"

Bevier stiffened (Menina could not help feeling a bit offended at that) and he groped for words. "A-are you certain you do not need me, Your Highness?"

"Yes, I am quite certain," the prince told him, waving his hand dismissively. "It's just a cramp. It has even begun to go away a bit. I can get by with just Sir Lepore's help."

"Well—"

"I could switch places with Sir Bevier, Your Highness," Lepore volunteered. If Menina did not trust Aventor to keep her revelations in the maze garden a secret, she could have sworn he had planned this with the brown-haired knight. "It is an honor to serve you, Your Highness, but if Sir Bevier would rather see to your safety than dance with his lovely ward, I would be more than happy to make the exchange."

"That is very noble of you, Sir Lepore," Aventor commended him, "I'm afraid _I_ would prefer that Sir Bevier partner his ward. You see, disturbing rumors have reached my ears that Lord Rafale is, ah, quite enamored of Mistress Menina…"

Both Bevier and Menina gasped. "What?" she spluttered. "But he's betrothed!" he protested.

"So I am sure," the prince continued earnestly, "since we all have Mistress Menina's best interests at heart, you would understand, my Lords, why I would prefer Sir Bevier to dance with her tonight. His status as her guardian should keep the wolves at bay."

"You do have a point, Your Highness," Lepore agreed reluctantly.

"So it's settled, then," Aventor said, relinquishing his hold on Bevier's shoulder and waving him in Menina's direction. "Duty calls, Sir Bevier."

"You do not have to do this," Menina mumbled to Bevier as the prince walked off the dance floor with only minimal help from Lepore. She was trying hard not to glare at Aventor's retreating back. There had been a definite gleam of mischief in his eye as he maneuvered Bevier into being her partner, even though she had been the only one to see it.

"It is not a problem," Bevier assured her.

"Another couple can dance in our place."

"The other dancers have waited long enough to start; let's not inconvenience them further."

"I'm sure you would rather just watch."

"No," he told her firmly, taking her hand. "I would very much like to dance with you."

* * *

Menina trusted Bevier not to spread the gossip about Rafale allegedly being in love with her, but she decided to visit Galema and warn her friend about the rumor anyway, in case it leaked out through other means.

"The prince was just trying to play a trick on me," she explained with a little laugh as she toyed with the tassel of a fat cushion in Elias and Galema's sitting room.

"How strange!" the duchess remarked, absently rubbing the gentle swell of her belly. It would not be long now before she would have to withdraw from public functions at court, which was a shame because she was radiant with her pregnancy. "Why on earth would he do that?"

She shrugged, avoiding her friend's eyes and looking instead at the view of the maze garden afforded by the sitting room window. "I suppose he just likes to tease me sometimes."

"About _Lord Rafale_?" Galema looked disapproving. "He may be pleasant enough to look upon, Menina, but he definitely does not have the brains to match. And he's betrothed, besides. He's completely inappropriate for you."

"The prince was not teasing me about _him_!" Menina protested. "I know he's inappropriate. Aventor was teasing me about...nothing in particular."

Unfortunately, the duchess was no fool. "Nothing in particular?" she repeated skeptically.

"No, nothing in particular," she affirmed in a more confident voice.

"Was he teasing you about _someone_ in particular, then?"

"I just told you that he wasn't teasing me about Rafale," Menina said.

"Someone else, then." Galema laughed. "Maybe he was maneuvering you into dancing with Sir Bevier."

Despite her best efforts, Menina felt her face grow warm. She should say something, she thought, but what? It was true, and Galema was her friend. Menina could confide in her — at least, she could not lie to her — but she was not sure whether she was ready to share something so personal, so sensitive, even with a friend.

It turned out that she did not need to say a thing. "He was!" Galema squealed. "The prince is helping you and Bevier come together, isn't he?"

"I keep telling Aventor it's improper," Menina mumbled. "Bevier is my guardian."

"Yes, he is, but it's different in your case. You're not a young girl fresh out of the schoolroom. And you know," her friend added, "you and Bevier do look very fine together." She giggled. "Oh, Elias is going to love this."

"No! Please don't tell him!" she begged, her grip tightening on the cushion she still held.

"Why not? He is Bevier's friend. He could—"

"I can't have everyone know. I've never been in this kind of situation before," Menina mumbled. "I-I need time to come to terms with it all."

"I understand." Galema gave her a sympathetic smile and pat on the hand. "I promise you, your secret is safe with me, and if you ever need someone to talk to, know that you can always come to me. I don't mean to boast, but I happen to know a thing or two about true love."

"I'm certain that you do. Thank you, Galema." Menina managed a smile of her own. "I feel a bit better now that someone else knows — although I still don't want to have the entire world know," she added hastily.

"It does help to share these burdens with a friend. We can be quite useful in moving things along." The duchess grinned impishly. "For instance, I could hold a salon sometime next week, and invite both you and Bevier, and somehow maneuver you into sitting beside each other..."

* * *

Bevier trusted Lepore not to spread gossip, but he didn't trust him that much, and so he sought out his brother knight at the Cyrinic chapterhouse in Ucera to warn him that there would be dire consequences if he decided to amuse himself by spreading the rumor about Menina and Rafale.

"I know Aventor was only joking, old man," Lepore assured him as he lounged in the governor's chair in his office. "I barely took notice of it."

"I'm glad to hear it," Bevier said, similarly leaning back in the visitor's chair situated across the desk. "I just feared that you would take him seriously. He is, after all, heir to the throne."

"He may be that, but he is also hardly more than a boy and still given to playing tricks. Don't put him on a pedestal just because he's a prince, Bevier. Menina doesn't."

"I shall try to remember that."

Suddenly, Lepore straightened in his chair and leaned forward, eyeing his friend keenly. "I cannot help but wonder, though, just whom he was making fun of last night. Was he teasing Menina...or you?"

Bevier shrugged, avoiding his friend's eyes. "Who can say, really?"

"I think he knows something we don't."

"Well, since we don't know it, I cannot possibly tell you what that might be."

A grin began to spread across Lepore's face as an idea began to dawn on him. "I think Aventor was matchmaking — not between Menina and that dolt Rafale," he clarified, "but between her and you."

Bevier stiffened in his seat. Part of him was glad to realize that the prince did not want Menina for himself, but... "That is completely inappropriate," he said, scowling repressively at his brother knight. How many times did he have to say the words before they sank in? "Menina is my ward, as you very well know."

"I doubt that Aventor cares. Perhaps he just believes that you would make a fine pair." Lepore sighed melodramatically. "As much as it pains me to admit it, old man, I think the prince is on to something there."

He shrugged again. "I do not mean to belittle the prince's ideas, but they are of no consequence. Nothing will come of his machinations because there are no feelings of that sort between Menina and myself."

"Isn't there?" Lepore chuckled and paused for effect. "I also think that the prince was matchmaking because Menina is in love with you."

Bevier shot him a startled look. _"She is?"_

"It's possible," he heard Lepore say over the pounding of his heart. "Aventor wouldn't try to throw you together if she wasn't. She's his friend, and for all his faults, His Highness does not seem the type to take friendship, or matters of the heart, so lightly.

"How do you like that, old man?" the brown-haired knight continued, chuckling. "Menina could have had her pick of suitors — _I_ was certainly interested, and made no secret of it — but of all the men in Arcium, she had to go and fall in love with _you_."

"She cannot possibly be in love with me," Bevier said shakily, slumping in his chair and staring at his feet. "I am her guardian." The words came instinctively, a good thing considering the maelstrom of emotions that was raging inside him.

"I doubt that she cares. The question now is...what are you going to do about it?"

"I...I don't know."

Lepore raised his eyebrows. "I thought the answer would be clear: you're going to tell her that this situation cannot go on. A guardian and his ward are not supposed to fall in love."

Suddenly, Bevier was gripped by a stillness as everything fell into place, and it all felt so right, as inevitable as the incoming tide. And a wise man, someone who had been through it himself, had told him that the wisest thing to do in this situation was to just accept it and enjoy the ride.

"Yes, they are not supposed to fall in love," he agreed, straightening and looking up once again to meet his friend's eyes. "But the fact remains that they _can_."

* * *

"We had considered getting married at home," Arda was saying, "but decided it would be much more fun to have the wedding at court. His Majesty has graciously offered to host the celebration. My first marriage to Bevier's father, God rest his soul, had been in Catalum, and my entire family and all our friends are already here..."

Bevier smiled politely at the ladies who were hanging on to his mother's every word and glanced around the anteroom. Afternoon services had just ended and those who had attended were waiting to enter the banquet-hall for a light meal. Though they were no doubt updated on every detail of the upcoming wedding, Arda's friends wanted to hear all about them again, just in case anything had changed since the last time they discussed the wedding plans. The bride-to-be, of course, was more than happy to describe everything over and over.

"White is out of the question, of course. I thought of having my wedding gown made in rose, my favorite color, but Menina will naturally stand up with me at the ceremony and our gowns must match to some extent, so I must choose a color that goes with her hair..."

A movement at the corner of his eye caught Bevier's attention and he glimpsed Menina ducking her head slightly. She looked to be stifling a yawn, but he wasn't quite sure about that because not only was she not looking in his direction, her prayer veil obscured what he could see of her face.

Although they had once been heavy pieces of cloth that served to protect Arcian women's modesty and remind the wearer of the sacrifices that a true believer must make to become one with God, modern prayer veils were frivolous little things. Menina's veil, a gift from Bevier's mother, was an airy lacework of birds and flowers worked in black silk thread.

He thought it looked quite nice against the brilliance of her hair.

Indeed, instead of dampening it, the sober hues appropriate for worship only served to highlight Menina's vivid coloring. She was like a flame that could not be extinguished.

Bevier caught himself and looked away quickly, managing to nod and smile at an acquaintance who just happened to be passing by. He was a Knight of the Church, he reminded himself, not the villain in a badly written melodrama. As a responsible guardian, he should be having a serious talk with his ward about her misdirected feelings and looking around for a suitable husband for her instead of mooning about and feeding an unwholesome attraction to a woman he was honor-bound to protect.

If only the right path — especially the idea of marrying her off to someone, anyone — didn't turn his stomach so.

"Gregor gave the family wedding ring to his oldest son when the boy got married, which is only proper, so I won't be wearing that. We're having new rings made..."

Grateful for the concealment offered by her veil, Menina stole a glance at Bevier. Her heart gave a silly little skip when he smiled in greeting at a passerby. From the first time they met, she had always thought him handsome. Did that mean she had been in love with him for that long? And when he had kissed her...

_Stop that!_ Menina caught herself and looked away. He was her guardian and a Knight of the Church. She, as a dutiful ward, should resist temptation and the risk of causing a scandal. That kiss was a mistake, was it not? They had mutually agreed to put it behind them for good. Leading a virtuous life and upholding the family's honor were the most important things.

If only they brought her as much joy as the sight of Bevier's smile.

Nevertheless, a tiny voice part of her couldn't help but ask, _Would it be so bad..._

_...if we actually came together?_ Bevier wondered.

"We do not wish to impose on His Majesty's generosity, so we will only have a simple feast after the ceremony, mostly sweets. Gregor is fond of candied fruit, so we will have all sorts and sugared flowers, too. I think it's quite romantic, a symbol of the sweet life we will be starting together..."

* * *

_"Do something!"_ Galema hissed as she glided past.

Menina gestured helplessly at her friend. Just what was she supposed to do? She knew she was supposed to _do something_; she had done nothing but by Bevier's side, stiff and silent as a board, for the past several minutes. But she had no idea what to say to him, what she was supposed to be doing. To make matters worse, Aventor was sending Menina looks that alternated between teasing and exasperated from across the room.

This was not going at all well, she thought miserably. What must he think of her?

"You had better pay her some attention, old man," Lepore murmured to Bevier from the adjoining settee. "She's starting to get restless. What must she think of you?"

"What am I supposed to say?" Bevier replied, keeping his voice similarly low. "You may recall that I have absolutely no experience in this field."

"For heaven's sake, Bevier, just make small talk. Tell her she looks beautiful today. Ask her what book she's reading. You're the smart one between the two of us — you've always known how to string a couple of words together, even around women."

"Those times were different. They weren't...important to me."

"Well, just remember that you're important to her, too. Anything you say to her will be fine."

Bevier steeled himself and turned towards Menina, intending to initiate a conversation about Church history, but found her getting to her feet. "If you will excuse me, my lords," she said, "I am feeling a bit parched. I believe I shall go seek some refreshment."

"No, divinity," Lepore offered quickly. "Pray remain seated. You need not bother yourself when your stalwart guardian and I are around. I shall fetch you a drink while Bevier, here, keeps you amused."

Menina couldn't even look at Bevier. "I appreciate the offer," she babbled, "but really, I can do it myself. The table is barely an arm's length from us. Also, I-I see an acquaintance nearby. I simply must go and say hello."

Lepore shot Bevier a disgruntled look as she hastened away. "You may wish to spend this time preparing to engage her in a scintillating conversation when she comes back — rather, _if_ she comes back."

Menina took a deep, steadying breath, acutely conscious of the knights' eyes on her as she walked towards the refreshment table and her fictitious acquaintance. She needed to get away from Bevier for a while to gather her wits and think of something interesting to say to him. Some food or drink might also help bolster her courage.

"The wine is, of course, excellent," drawled a voice at her elbow, "although the ladies seem to be particularly fond of that new orange-and-lemon concoction the royal cooks have created."

Stifling a groan, she turned to Count Ogelor and mustered a smile. "Can I not have both?"

Ogelor laughed, a practiced, throaty chuckle that was probably supposed to sound seductive but was actually more annoying than anything else. "A very clever response, Mistress Menina, and if I may be so bold to add, so characteristic of your vibrant nature. You are such a welcome addition to the court — indeed, if I were like Master Bayhard and gifted in the literary arts, I would call you a breath of fresh air."

"Thank you, my lord. It is very kind of you to say so." Menina inclined her head towards him and turned back to the refreshments, hoping that he would realize that she was infinitely more interested in the spread than in him. Quickly, she chose a goblet of something from the array on the table and made to leave. "If you will excuse me..."

Of course, Ogelor did not. "Pray do not leave yet. It is so rare that I have the pleasure of your company, and I wish to bask in it a little while longer." He smiled. "Perhaps you would care to take a turn about the gardens with me? We could take some of this food for a picnic lunch."

Looking back, perhaps she would have been able to phrase her response more diplomatically, but Menina's nervousness about Bevier, coupled with her irritation at Ogelor's persistence, made it difficult to be polite. Instead of thanking him for the invitation and demurring graciously, she shook her head firmly. "No, my lord. What you are proposing would be most unseemly. I am unmarried, and you are wed to another woman. If we are seen together, it would cause a great deal of talk."

"Let them talk," the count answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You do not care what the rest of the world thinks, do you?"

"I do not value myself based on the opinion of the rest of the world, that is true, but such talk could affect my family. I do not want to dishonor them." She glanced unseeingly over her shoulder, at Bevier. "You must not ask such things of me, my lord, especially not when my guardian is within earshot."

Ogelor's eyes narrowed. "It would be dishonorable to be seen in my company?"

"It was not my intention to cast slurs on your character, my lord," Menina hastened to explain. "The difficulty lies in your status as a married man. You know how people like to gossip. I fear that going with you, even for just an innocent walk in the gardens, would cause talk that will hurt my family — and yours as well, of course."

By now, the urbane expression was gone from the count's face, replaced by a mocking sneer. "You may think you're too good for me, _Mistress_ Menina, but everyone knows just what you are."

The ugly inflections in Ogelor's speech propelled Bevier to his feet. "Apologize or name your seconds, Ogelor!" he declared. An excited murmur started up throughout the chamber as he strode over to the pair.

"My Lord, this is hardly worth a challenge," the count replied smoothly. "I barely said anything to your...lovely ward."

"No, but everyone knew what you meant." Prince Aventor appeared at Bevier's side. "I hope you will consider me as one of your seconds, Sir Bevier. Mistress Menina is my friend, and I would be a poor one if I allowed her honor to be sullied."

"Especially when such allegations are completely untrue," Lepore added. "I shall be your other second, Bevier."

"I'll be a third if you need it!" Elias announced.

Ogelor sized up his challengers ― the Champion of the Cyrinic Order, backed by one of his brother knights, the Crown Prince of Arcium, and one of the best swordsmen at court ― and summoned a conciliatory smile. "Your Highness, my Lords, there really is no need to go to such lengths over a tiny misunderstanding," he said in his maddeningly oily voice. "Please accept my apologies."

Bevier had to admit that he felt a crushing disappointment at that. He had been looking forward to taking Ogelor apart, but the apology was enough to satisfy the demands of honor. There would be no duel.

"Excuse me, my Lords," Menina said as she forced her way back into the small circle. "The count may have made his apologies to you, but he has not yet apologized to me. I still demand satisfaction." Before anyone could stop her, she had drawn back a fist and driven it into the count's face.

Cries of surprise and dismay erupted as Ogelor stumbled backwards, swearing sulfurously. _"By dose!"_ he howled, clapping a hand to his face.

"This is going to get ugly," Elias remarked as blood began to well up between the count's fingers.

"Take her away from here, Bevier," Lepore said, pushing Menina towards him. "We'll clean up."

"But―"

"She may have hurt her hand. See to it."

One glance at Menina cradling one hand with the other was enough to have Bevier hustle her away towards the family suite.

His mother was reading in the sitting room when they burst in through the door. "What on earth...?!"

"Menina hurt her hand, Mother," Bevier said, leading his ward towards the settee and sinking down on it beside her.

"She _what_?! Are you all right, my dear? What happened?"

"Well," Menina answered before he could say anything, "I punched Count Ogelor, and―"

"You _what_?!" Arda squawked. "How could you do such a thing?! This is terrible! A scandal! Gently-bred women of good families do not go around hitting people! I thought you knew better!" She flung her arms out, looking supremely distressed. "To think that I was so pleased at your progress and your high standing at court...oh, what will my friends say when they hear about this?"

"He insulted her, Mother!" Bevier interrupted the litany. "He asked to escort Menina to banquet tonight and when she refused, he made the ugliest insinuations about her."

That was enough to make his mother change her tune. "He did? Just because she said no, which she was right in doing because he is married? How childish! Noblemen should know better than to go around saying things about ladies just because they don't get what they want!" She drew Menina to her. "You poor dear! He had no right to do that to you! Oh, if I had only been there, I would have...I hope you gave that odious man what he deserved!"

"Well, I think Menina broke his nose."

"Good! That will teach him to take on one of ours; and if it does not, we'll teach him again and again until he learns." Arda patted the younger woman's shoulder briskly and released her. "I'll be back in a trice to see to your hand, my dear. Just stay seated and remain calm."

"Are you all right?" Bevier asked Menina as his mother flew into the women's bedchamber to rummage for bandages and medicines.

She looked stricken. "Did I really cause a scandal?" she asked in a small voice.

He smiled at her reassuringly. "No, you just punched the count in the face. Many, myself included, would believe that he had it coming."

"But your mother said..."

"Mother was just upset over seeing that you were hurt. She forgot all about it when she learned the whole story, did she not?"

Menina shook her head, refusing to calm down. "I didn't mean to do it. He just made me so angry that I couldn't think straight. I'm so sorry, Bevier." Her voice cracked. "The last thing I want to do is cause trouble for the family―"

"Do not worry," Bevier told her firmly, hoping to keep Menina from becoming hysterical or worse, crying. Fortunately, it seemed to work. "Many people heard and saw what happened. You were only defending yourself."

"But I didn't have to do it, not when you had already tried to defend me," she said, blinking back tears.

That was true, he almost blurted out, but fortunately he remembered that he was trying to make her feel better, not worse. "What you did was perfectly natural," he said instead. "Anyone would want to fight for himself if put in your situation. How does your hand feel?"

She grimaced and looked down at it, still clenched in a fist. "I think I broke it."

Bevier eased the fist open and flexed the fingers experimentally, gently probing the bones in her hand. "Everything seems to be in working order," he concluded. "Perhaps it is just sore ― Ogelor has a very hard head, after all." He chuckled, and before he knew what he was doing, he lifted the injured hand and kissed it.

When he looked back up into her face, he saw that she no longer looked stricken, but curious. Bevier's heart lifted when Menina's lips curved in a tiny, hopeful smile, and began to race when he moved closer and she didn't draw away.

_You should wait around for a moment. You'll never know what will happen next..._

Prince Aventor's words echoed in Menina's head, mingled with the pounding of her heart. Dutifully, she stayed still, as if the slightest puff of air would cause Bevier to shrink from her and disappear. She wanted him to kiss her. If he kissed her now, then surely it meant that he was in love with her, the way she was in love with him. He would not be sitting beside her, holding her hand and staring so deeply into her eyes if he wasn't, would he? When was she going to be certain?

_To hell with waiting._

Bevier's heart stopped when Menina threw her arms around him, closing the gap between them, and their lips met.

For a moment, they both froze, and then they both laughed and relaxed when they finally became certain of the other's feelings.

This kiss was different from the first one at Queen Linde's birthday, and the others that had followed in Bevier's dreams. Those kisses had been angry, secretive, confused. Today, he simply felt free. Free to explore the tastes and textures of Menina's mouth with his own. Free to wind an arm around her waist and haul her close. Free to revel in the feel of her body pressing against him, her fingers weaving through his hair and pulling them even closer together.

Neither of them heard the door to the women's bedchamber open or saw Arda enter the sitting room and gape at the scene before her. If they had, perhaps they would have been embarrassed by the delighted smile that spread over the older woman's face and her hasty, discreet exit to give them more privacy.

Then again, perhaps not.

**Author's Notes 2:**__I hope this chapter was worth the wait! ;-) Belated Happy Valentine's Day!


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